


the darkness shall be the light

by neonheartbeat



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Timelines, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Gen, Jedi Ben Solo, M/M, Multi, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-16
Updated: 2019-05-11
Packaged: 2019-11-18 21:21:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 59,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18126644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neonheartbeat/pseuds/neonheartbeat
Summary: General Leia Organa has vanished. In her absence, the sinister FIRST ORDER has risen from the ashes of the Empire and will not stop until Organa, the leader of the RESISTANCE, has been destroyed.With the support of the NEW REPUBLIC, Luke Skywalker leads his NEW JEDI ORDER. He is desperate to find his sister Leia and gain her help in restoring peace and justice to the galaxy.Luke has brought his most powerful student on a secret mission with him to JAKKU, where an old ally has discovered a clue to Leia's whereabouts…





	1. in my beginning is my end

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is the result of a twitter poll. The people have SPOKEN and the tropes chosen WERE: Alternate Universe, Jedi Ben/Scavenger Rey, tied on more or less than 10k words (so clearly it's going to be 100k words because I'm a hyperfixated little goblin), rating M. Please enjoy.
> 
> Title and chapter titles from "East Coker" by T.S. Eliot, because I'm nothing if not on brand.

Jakku is a desolate, desert planet. It lacks the double suns of Tattooine, but the endless dunes and orange rocks stretch all the way to the horizon, where the single sun sets in streaks of gold and rose light, the sky almost cloudless. Behind the two travelers and their transport, an old quad-jumper, the sky darkens to worn-out blue, the faded sky deepening to the color of seawater.

"There," says Luke, peering through his battered old macrobinoculars toward the horizon. "That's the village, all right. Should be a few hours walk." He lowers the ancient things and tucks them into his pack. "We'll make for it on foot."

"Yes, Master," says his student, taller than Luke by a few inches and standing just behind him. He's young, maybe in his late twenties, with his brown hood covering his head.

"You remember your survival training," says Luke, pushing his own hood back to expose his clean-shaven face and trimmed dark blond hair. "Desert survival?"

The student's head tilts slightly. "Loose robes act as a cooling unit. Drink plenty of water. Um, rest during the day and travel at night?"

"Correct," says Luke, smiling. "All right. Let's go."

They start off, plodding through the sand, and in nearly no time at all the battered old quad-jumper disappears behind them, lost to the desert. It's no worry—they have a beacon on the ship so they can find it again—but Luke senses a shiver of apprehension from his student, and turns his head a little.

 _Don't worry about it,_ he says through the Force. _We'll have our business done here soon enough._

The student looks off to the side, away from his master. _It's not the ship. This whole planet… sets my teeth on edge._

 _Many died here_ , says Luke, _in the wars after the Empire fell. The Battle of Jakku, for one. It is natural to feel echoes of it in the Force._

 _It's not the death,_ says his student, and hunches his shoulders slightly. _It's something else._

Luke doesn't respond, only nods and walks along in companionable silence. Ben had not been an easy student. He reminded Luke a little of himself: overeager, stubborn, easily upset—he'd inherited his mother's temper and his father's crooked mouth. On Han, it was rakish and suave. On Ben, it just looked out of place. _Of course he reminds you of yourself_ , Luke thinks. _He's your nephew, after all._

_*_

They arrive in Tuanul just after midnight, according to their chronos, and are immediately stopped at the outskirts by a woman of about forty with a hard face and dark hair, her simple clothing frayed at the hems.

"State your purpose," she says calmly, holding a glowlamp. It casts shadows on her face that seem to make her older, then younger, then ageless. A thousand faces, all flickering in shadow: a thousand different people.

Luke pulls his hood back. "I am looking for Lor San Tekka," he says, and she blinks in astonishment.

"Master Skywalker," she says, almost reverently. "You are most welcome, in the name of the Force. Please. This way." She turns and begins to walk, and they keep up with her brisk pace.

Ben follows his uncle through the center of the village and into a hut, brushing aside a beaded curtain. The interior is cool and lit by open fire, and Ben stares at it in fascination, forgetting how exhausted he is for a moment—the primitive way these people live! Not a coolth unit or any plumbing to be seen. He and Luke both take off their hoods, hair stuck to their foreheads with sweat.

An elderly man with a white, short-cropped beard stands and bows to Luke, the beads on his robe tinkling gently. "Skywalker," he says, smiling, and Luke embraces him as if they were old friends. "Please, sit. You must be tired after your journey."

"Thank you, my friend," says Luke, and sits, motioning to Ben. "This is my nephew, Ben. Ben, this is Lor San Tekka."

Ben steps forward. "You—can you tell us where my mother is?" he asks quickly.

"Hello, Ben," says Tekka gently. "I am afraid you do not remember me. But then again, the last time we met you were quite a bit younger."

Impatience rises in Ben's throat. "My _mother_. Uncle Luke says you had a piece of the puzzle—"

"Forgive my nephew," says Luke apologetically. "The young often do not see the sense in being polite." He gives Ben a look, and Ben sits down with a tightly controlled little exhale of air through his nose.

"Nothing to forgive," says Tekka. "Here, you must both be hungry." He stands and bustles over in the kitchen area, coming back with two steaming flatbreads full of what looked like chopped mushrooms in blue butter and vegetables. Ben, forgetting his irritation as his stomach growls, takes it with a polite word and begins to eat as Luke does the same. They finish with tea, and Tekka sits back with a sigh.

"I have heard," says Luke, sipping his tea, "that there is some sort of map that exists to my sister's location."

"A map!" says Tekka, and laughs. "What person disappears and leaves behind a map to their location? Very convenient for the First Order, wouldn't it be? No." He leans forward. "One week ago, I was visited by a Resistance pilot, looking for the same thing you are. He was one of the General's closest confidantes. Unfortunately, the Order had tracked him here. They spared the village, but they arrested him."

"I see," says Luke. "That is a shame."

"Armitage Hux is a ruthless little animal of a man," says Tekka. "He killed his own father to claw his way up the ladder, and he will stop at nothing to get what he wants. I pity the pilot."

"I assume the pilot didn’t have whatever it is that you…had?" asks Ben.

"He did not," says Tekka. "He was arrested before he stepped foot in my home. His droid, however—his droid managed to find me, and I sent it away with the clue."

"A droid?" Luke asks.

" _What_ clue?" Ben demands, at the exact same time.

Tekka shakes his head. "Your sister left a message, Skywalker. I could not decode it or open it. I don’t believe the Order would be able to do anything with it, either. And yes, a droid: an orange and white BB unit. Sweet personality, very feisty."

"Where did you send the droid?" Luke looks interested.

"Off west. I think it might have made it to Niima Outpost." Tekka looks tired. "You should rest here until tomorrow's sun has set and make your way there at night. There's going to be a storm soon. I can feel it."

Ben tries to swallow down his frustrations. His mother is out there somewhere, and the galaxy _needs_ her, and this old man wants them to wait for a _storm_? "We should go now," he insists.

"Ben," says Luke patiently. "It's past midnight. If the First Order still has sights on Jakku, they'll be monitoring Tuanul, along with every other person passing through."

"We were able to land just fine," Ben protests. "Nothing came up on our sensors. They're clearly not here anymore, and if they are, they have no idea this droid has the message—you said they took the pilot before you gave it to the droid?" Tekka nods. "So they can't torture it out of the pilot, because he doesn't know. They don't know—"

"Ben!" says Luke in a tone of severe admonition. "Remember your training, and have a little more respect for a living being in pain."

Ben shuts his eyes and bows his head. "Yes, Master," he says, flushed to the ears.

"The boy is right," says Tekka after a moment, and Ben bites back his anger at being called _boy_ in favor of being told he was right. "You should go now, and quietly. And you ought to change your clothing a little. Jedi are not common around these parts."

*

Ben looks down at himself and wrinkles his nose. He had kept his thick-soled boots, but he'd switched his loose Jedi trousers out for an extra pair in his rucksack he'd brought for casual wear—they reminded him of his father, with a deep gusset and second-class Corellian bloodstripes running down the outer leg. As usual, he catches himself thinking about the circumstances under which he'd earned them, and abruptly puts that out of his mind.

Up top, he had discarded his layers of Jedi robes and now wears only a loose, sleeveless tunic that exposed far more skin than he would have liked, but under the circumstances, he had no other options. Both wrists are covered with borrowed leather cuffs, and his own Jedi belt is wrapped around his waist, keeping his pouches within easy reach and pulling the tunic in snugly to keep sand out of his pants. Over the whole thing hangs his cloak, which Lor San Tekka had informed him would be better used as a head-wrap to keep sand from one's eyes.

Luke had lost most of his layers, and wears his billowing, long-sleeved tunic under his robe, with cuffs at the wrist to keep the sand out. Both their lightsabers have been tucked safely away in Luke's pack. "Presentable, I think," he says, looking down at himself. "We should have different names, too."

"Just use your name backward like you did on Cato Nemoidia," suggests Ben. "Ekul."

Luke rolls his eyes. "Really, Ben? Where's the _pizzazz_? I have a chance to go by something like Ratharion Darklighter, and you're going to suggest _Ekul_?"

Ben hides a rare smile. "Ratharion Darklighter," he says, and snorts.

"Was that a smile? From _my_ nephew?" Luke grins and gives him a playful shove. "Arion it is. Arion…Whitesun." His smile goes a little misty, but he shakes himself and continues. "And you can be—what was the name you used on our mission to Arkanis? Mylo?"

"Kylo," says Ben, feeling sheepish. "Kylo Ren. Like Ben Solo, but you flip the name around, Solo Ben, and you change the letters a little."

"Oh, there's a formula for this?" asks Luke, grinning. "You should have told me. I would be—" he screws his face up—"Let's see. Skywalker Luke, then switch the letters—ah, _ky_ was for Skywalker, wasn't it? Clever. Solwalker Muke. There."

"That's horrible," says Ben.

"I know, which is why I'm not using it." Luke picks up his pack. "I'm your uncle, Arion Whitesun, and you're my nephew Kylo Ren. All right. Let's get to Niima Outpost by dawn if we can."

"Stay away from the sinking fields," says Tekka. "And may the Force be with you."

*

It takes them the rest of the night and half the morning, but they finally stumble across the plateau and beneath the main gate of Niima Outpost, which Luke peers up at with some scrutiny.

"That's Huttese architecture," he says under his breath as they make their way into the busier part of the town. "Niima the Hutt was a crime lady who set up shop here for a few decades. This isn't exactly a planet you'd pick a vacation getaway on." He considers for a moment. "I'd advise against using the Force at all. We don't want to draw any attention to ourselves."

"Doesn't take a genius to see that," says Ben, looking past the main square and toward an enormous, outdoor shed. There are people sitting under the canopy, out of the hot sun, scrubbing and cleaning what look like junk parts, while overseers stalk about and shout at them if they go too slowly. He can see an ancient woman with wrinkles as deep as ravines, children, a filthy young woman, many Teedos, several dusty-looking men in head-wraps and goggles—it seems like people from everywhere have congregated just to clean their spare parts. He can't shake the unsettling feeling that there's something he's missing, just out of sight or out of reach here.

"Ah," says Luke, watching something across the street. Ben lets his vision shift over. "It's a scavenging operation." An awning-roofed blockhouse faces out to the street, and in the only window sits—or stands—an enormous Crolute, barking at the line of straggling scavengers who stand there. He slaps down something and shouts for the next person, and dutifully, the next person steps up to be shouted at. "I wouldn't be surprised if that Crolute owns the cleaning shed, and all the equipment," Luke muses to himself.

"They're—" Ben focuses harder. A middle-aged, black haired woman steps up, shoves over her junk, and is handed half a dehydrated ration pack from the Crolute. She turns away, looking crestfallen, and walks off. "They can't go anywhere else for food?"

"I expect not," says Luke.

Outraged, Ben opens his mouth to say something searing, but he stops short. He's caught a flash of orange and white behind a pillar, and—"Uncle Arion," he says, narrowing his eyes, "I think our target's right there." Sure enough, the BB unit rolls out, as if to peek out at the crowd, and retreats again.

Luke turns and his eyebrows fly up. "Huh. All right. Let's go make friends."

They begin to trek across the hard-packed sand, and Ben kneels down, looking behind the pillar. The droid, seemingly having sensed their approach, is hiding in the shadows of a tent, under a flap of canvas. "Hey," he says. "Droid."

The droid responds with a series of burbling whistles and squeaks, and pokes its domed head out again, main photoreceptor focused on Ben.

"Hello. We don't mean you any harm," says Luke kindly. "We're looking for something that Lor San Tekka gave you."

The droid shrieks in alarm and rolls back and forth wildly, and Ben has just enough time to turn in confusion before a staff comes whistling out of the sky and cracks him across the chest with enough force to knock him over. The droid wails, Luke steps forward with both hands up, and Ben tries to get back to his feet. He hadn't even sensed anyone approaching, what the—

He gets to his knees and makes to stand, but the blunt edge of the staff jabs him in the throat. "You stay put," snaps a low, feminine voice. " _You_ —" this is directed at Luke—"tell me what you want with BB-8."

"BB-8?" Luke smiles. "That's its name?" His fingers twitch unobtrusively, and Ben, still squinting into the sun, can't make out the girl's face. "It's all right. We're friends, and we're trying to help you. You don't want to cause a scene. You'll turn around and walk away." Luke's voice is gentle, but Ben can sense the Force behind his words.

There is a silence, and the girl steps forward. "I will _not_ ," she snaps. "I don't know what kind of game you're playing at, Mr.—"

"Arion Whitesun," says Luke, surprised. "This is my nephew, Kylo Ren."

"Mr. Whitesun," says the girl angrily, "but I'm all that droid has, and I'm not giving him to you even if you gave me a hundred portions!"

The pain in Ben's chest is fading. He feels that old impatience and anger rising again: how dare this dirty little scavenger get in the way of him and Uncle Luke finding his _mother_? He shoves himself to his feet and catches her staff-swing in his palm, gripping it tight and coming face-to-face with her: his first impression only a pair of hazel eyes narrowed in anger and freckles under the dust smeared across her face. Tendrils of brown hair are stuck to her cheeks and neck with sweat, most of it pulled back. She is wiry and strong, but she is undernourished and small: he's a good five inches taller and has had the advantage of plenty of food. "Uncle, grab the droid," he says through his teeth, wrestling with her over the staff. "We don't have time for this."

"Let _go_ of me!" she demands, and yanks herself closer to the staff, trying to wrest it from his hands. When that doesn't work, she rears her head back and smashes her forehead into his nose. From behind them, BB-8 burbles in excitement.

Luke lets out a whistle of admiration as Ben staggers away, cupping his face in both hands with a shout of pain. "I apologize for my nephew's behavior," he says to the girl. "He tends to act without thinking." Then he turns and addresses the droid. "Your owner. He was a Resistance pilot, wasn't he?"

The droid stops dead in its movements and freezes, staring at Luke with its photoreceptor. It swivels to look at the girl, then at Luke again, then back at the girl, where it rattles off a frantic stream of whistles and beeps. The girl whirls about and gives Luke a suspicious look. "BB-8 says you must be First Order spies." She raises her staff threateningly.

"We're _nod_ spies," Ben manages thickly through his bleeding nose. "Augh."

Luke steps closer. "We're from the Resistance. That droid is carrying something _very_ important to us, and we have to get it back to our base."

The girl hesitates, and her face softens into interest and excitement. "I've never met a Resistance fighter before," she says in hushed tones. She turns to the droid. "Are you really carrying something?" The little BB unit bobs its dome and whistles in the affirmative, and she turns back to Luke, ignoring Ben, who is still cupping his nose tenderly. "Right. First things first. You need to find shelter."

"Shelter?" asks Ben.

"Yeah. The _X'us'R'iia_ is heading in. Could last for a few hours, could last for days." She slings her staff back over her shoulder and picks up her tote bag, giving them both a scrutinizing look. "There aren't really any inns here. Well, none that aren't run by Unkar Plutt, I mean."

"The—oh. The Crolute?" Luke asks.

"Right. He'll overcharge you for everything and steal the shirts right off your back." She gives them another long look, as if she is trying to decide something. "My speeder seats two, max. Unless you want to ride in the cargo net."

"Your speeder?" asks Ben.

"I have a place," she informs him, eyes narrowed. "It's not much, but it's out of the wind and the dust. I don't have a lot of food, but—"

"We have food," says Luke. "We're happy to share with you."

That seems to decide things. She pulls out a piece of cloth from her tote and wraps it around her head, settling a pair of scrapped-together goggles on her forehead. "Right. Follow me, then. You too, BB-8."

"What was your name again?" Luke asks, hurrying to catch up with her. Ben follows, still touching his nose carefully and cursing inwardly.

"Oh! Rey. My name's Rey." She turns and waves them forward. "Speeder's parked over here behind the cleaning lot. Come on!"

*

The speeder turns out to be a massive, hulking rusted hunk of reddish metal with a tiny seat behind it and twin cargo nets draped over the sides. Rey gets the droid secured in the right webbing and clambers up onto the seat. "You two better roll a chance cube for the net," she says, grinning down at them.

Luke looks at Ben. "You'd better ride up there with our new friend," he says casually. "After all, you're injured."

Ben's pride flares. "It's nothing," he says stubbornly, and feels hot blood rush down his upper lip. "Kark," he mutters, dabbing at it again.

"Language," Luke reprimands. "Get up there and try not to get killed, would you?"

Ben scowls, but climbs up, removing his cloak and wrapping it around his neck and head like Rey has done with her cowl. He has to straddle the narrow seat, and the back of the girl's thighs and her backside press uncomfortably close. She smells like grease and unwashed skin.

Below them, Luke is climbing into the webbing, nestling between a wad of cloth and what looks like half an engine. "How ya doing up there, Kylo?" he shouts up.

A thumbs up is all he gets in return. Rey twists to look back at him. "You don't have anything to cover your arms?" she asks.

"No," he says.

She shrugs. "Your loss, then. It's about an hour's ride north. If the sand doesn't get you, the sun will." He's about to say something biting, but with a few quick movements, the engines roar to life, rattling and vibrating beneath his body. "Hang on!" She kicks down a pedal or two and they jolt off, nothing to nearly a hundred and twenty kilometers an hour in less than a second.

Ben is nearly flung off backward, but clamps his thighs down and pushes himself forward. There's no seat-back, and no grips, so he settles for keeping his thighs clenched tightly on the bit of seat he has and praying to the Force, which he can't use at the moment, to not let him be thrown off. Sand stings his arms like a million needles. "Can you go any slower?" he shouts over the rushing wind.

"I _said_ hang on!" she shouts back, head turned as the air whips her head-wrap around.

"To _what?"_ he demands.

"My waist!" she yells over the wind, and he reaches forward and grips her by the waist with both hands. She's surprisingly solid, and her fraying, dirty clothes are kept together by a thin, leather belt. Ben realizes suddenly that she's not wearing as many layers as she appears to be: only a long strip of gauze wrapped around her shoulders and hanging from her waist, a thin shirt, and a pair of loose trousers.

The sun beats down on his exposed skin as he holds the girl firmly between his slowly numbing legs. He suddenly realizes he's never been this close to a girl in his life, and that small fact makes him want to leap off the damn speeder. Of course he hasn't. Why would he? He'd been sent to study at Luke's school at the age of eleven, and being told every hour of every day of adolescence that emotions like _lust_ and _temptation_ were below a Jedi; that compassion was integral but attachment was to be handled with care—that had not exactly cultivated great romantic notions in the soul and heart of Ben Solo.

Besides, it wasn't like girls flocked to him. He knew perfectly well that he was a dead ringer for an emaciated Loth-cat, ears and all, and he'd told himself that was a good thing, because it allowed him to focus on matters more important. He'd told himself that so often that he sometimes almost believed it.

The speeder jolts, interrupting his thoughts, and Ben instinctively tightens his grip on the girl. His chest is aching and his nose is still throbbing with every heartbeat. "Sorry!" she shouts at him. "Slight malfunction in the mag-lift engines—I've got to get that fixed."

He holds on and waits for the journey to come to a close, and the Jakku sun beats down hot on his head and shoulders.

*

They come to a halt in the late afternoon, pulling up to what looks like a small metal-sided garage. Rey parks the speeder inside and slips off it quickly, getting the curtain to cover the gaping blast-hole she'd steered it through. She lifts BB-8 out of the netting, and the little droid burbles and rolls around in a happy little circle.

Luke disentangles himself from the net and climbs out, wiping sand out of his face and hair. Ben lifts a leg, slips, and falls off the speeder, legs gone numb and sore from clenching for so long. His arms feel like they're on fire, and he lets out a hiss of pain. BB-8 beeps in alarm.

His uncle reaches across with the Force. _You all right?_

Ben answers as he pulls himself off the sandy floor. _Never better. Can't feel my legs._

Rey turns around. "Oh, you're sun-burned," she informs him, as if he didn't know. "Come on. I think I've got some sun-salve in the main room."

Luke shakes his cloak and sand tinkles onto the speeder like rain. "We really can't thank you enough for your hospitality," he says.

"Oh, it's no bother," she says cheerfully, and beckons. "Come on. Follow me."

She leads them through a knocked-down interior wall and into a larger main area, cool despite its size, crammed with organized junk from one end to the other. There are two salvaged flight seats sitting upright on the floor, boxes with stuff sorted out on top, a makeshift stove, a table, a shelf with more random objects scattered across it, a pile of droid parts, and a gauzy curtain separating the living area from what appears to be a hammock, but Ben isn't paying attention. The skin on his shoulders and arms feels like it might light a match if it was held close enough. He presses a hand experimentally to his forearm and watches the skin turn white, then flush back to angry, burned red.

"Lovely home," says Luke graciously, swinging his pack off his back. "Where do you put your food?"

"Oh! There's a cooling unit in the head," says Rey, digging already through a pile of stuff, as if either of them are supposed to know what that means. She catches the baffled look on Luke's face. "I mean, erm. Go out that hatch, take a left, and climb up on the head. You'll see a hatch. It's got a cryptographic lock, but I'll lift it—hold on—" She darts over to a panel and picks up what looks like an ancient, cobbled-together datapad, and presses a few buttons. "All right, it'll be unlocked for ten minutes. Oh, and watch out for the motion sensors. They'll set off a water bomb." She turns to the droid. "You go with Mr. Whitesun and make sure he doesn't get himself killed."

"Thank you," says Luke, and slings the pack over his shoulder, hurrying out the hatch and tailed by the eager little BB unit.

Rey turns her attention to Ben, and unscrews a lid off a transparisteel jar of blue cream. "I haven't used this in years," she tells him. "Hope it isn't expired."

"What happens if it's expired?" he asks suspiciously.

"Your skin falls right off your arms," she tells him with a straight face, and lets him give her a horrified look before grinning. "I'm joking. No, if it's expired it just won't work as well. Here, sit down and take your tunic off."

Mild panic stirs in Ben's stomach. _Take your tunic off_. He doesn't care for having his arms exposed, let alone half his body—but the scavenger is giving him an impatient look, so he unbuckles his belt and slides it off, then gingerly pulls his tunic over his head. Just lifting his arms burns like the surface of the sun, and he bites back a cry of pain. She takes it and sets it aside, then sits down next to him cross-legged and dips her fingers into the cream. "Hold still," she orders, and he does, her fingers sweeping across his burnt skin as she rubs the stuff in.

His first impression is _relief_ , so strong that he almost groans. The sun-salve is cool and smooth, and removes the burning immediately. Rey's hands meticulously cover every inch of burned skin, starting at his shoulders and moving down past the leather wrist-cuffs to his hands. Her deft little fingers turn his palms over so she can inspect them, and then she moves to his other side, rubbing in more salve from shoulder to wrist. Ben becomes horribly aware about halfway through the other arm firstly that he has never in his life been touched like this, and secondly, to his horror, that he's half-hard in his snug trousers. He grips his tunic as unobtrusively as he can and slips it into his lap, desperately trying to force himself to power down.

Rey, thankfully, doesn't seem to notice. "I don't have a fresher, but you and your uncle can use the wipe-shower if you want," she tells him. "There's a small tank, and it should be cool by tonight. I can refill it and use it in the morning. Is your nose still bleeding?"

"Huh?" he asks stupidly, and she leans down a little, peering up at his face.

"Looks like it's stopped. I don't have a medkit here anymore—had to barter it off for food last month when I didn't find anything valuable scavenging." She gives him a little shrug, as if to say, _what can you do?_ "Sorry about that." He's not sure if she's apologizing for the blow to the nose, or 

"It's fine," he says, flexing his thigh muscles to divert bloodflow. It works, and he relaxes. "What's—you said the _X'us'R'iia_ is heading in? What's that? Breath of… something?" He's vaguely familiar with the Teedo language, but "R'iia" isn't one he's heard yet.

"Oh," she says, sitting back. "No, that's the name of sandstorms out here. Breath of R'iia. The Teedos believe—well, first off, R'iia is their goddess of storms, and they believe she's a nasty piece of work, and when she breathes, it makes storms that cause famine and drought. So all and any dust storms are the _X'us'R'iia_ , the breath of R'iia, because she's punishing us all for our sins."

Ben tilts his head. "You don't believe in R'iia," he says.

"Mmm. Perceptive." Rey puts the lid back on the salve. "No, I don't. I'm not Teedo, for one, and second, I know storms are caused by wind currents and hot and cold air all mixed up. You're from Corellia?"

"What?" he asks idiotically.

"Your bloodstripes," she says, and nods at his pants. "How'd you earn those?"

"My family is from Corellia," he tells her, evading the question. "Not me. I was born somewhere else."

"Do Corellians have gods?"

"Not that I'm aware of," he says. "But I think everyone has a belief system, whether it's personal or cultural."

"What do you believe in?" she asks, setting the jar back on its shelf.

He very nearly says _the Force_ and is shocked at how close he comes to the words. Fortunately, Luke steps back in, accompanied by BB-8 and smiling brightly, and interrupts them both. "Kylo! You'll never believe this. We're in a downed AT-AT! This young woman has managed to build herself a home inside it! Absolutely ingenious. You need to see the—"

Rey's beaming at the unexpected praise. "Oh! Thanks, Mr.Whitesun—"

"Please, call me Arion," says Luke. "Those motion sensor traps are brilliant. Did you engineer them yourself?"

"Sort of! I cobbled together a few old sensors off a downed TIE and rewired the perimeter ranges to read a smaller area. It wasn't too hard."

"Absolutely incredible. And the water bombs?"

"Rigged to blow the front section if someone comes mucking around."

Ben feels some emotion rising in his throat that he can't identify at first. He's still vaguely unsettled by this planet, and the feeling has intensified ever since they'd found the droid, but this is something new. "Well, you two have a nice talk. I'm going outside," he snaps, and staggers to his feet, snatching his tunic up to yank it over his head, limping out the hatch, and disappearing into the light of early evening.

*

Rey blinks in surprise at the man's outburst and turns to Arion in confusion as he storms out the hatch. "Was it something I said?" she asks. She's never had a guest over before—had she left out some important thing that one was supposed to say, or not offered something she was supposed to?

Arion seems to understand what she's thinking. "No, it wasn’t you," he tells her, and sighs. "My nephew is… impatient and a little stubborn and prone to fits of temper. But he's a good man, really."

"Oh," she says. "Well, he'd better not stay out too long. The storm will whip up soon."

"He won't," Arion assures her. "He'll come in sulking and get over it in a few minutes. Shall I help you make some food?" He pulls open his pack and shows her the fresh bread from Tuanul, and her eyes go as big as saucers.

"Real bread," she says, shocked. She hasn't seen real bread in months, maybe years.

"And real food, all packed in your cooling unit," he tells her.

"I thought you brought polystarch and veg-meat portions!" She steps closer, almost afraid to touch the bread. "I—you'll know how to prepare it more than me. Here, I'll turn the stove on."

They work together amiably, Arion slicing up the bread and helping her portion out dried mushrooms and cooking oil to fry them in. The smell of cooking food fills the space, and soon Kylo, attracted by the smell, climbs back in through the hatch and picks up three of the thin metal trays she eats off of, handing them silently to his uncle for serving out. BB-8 takes in the scene, and detecting no threats, powers down in the corner.

The _X'us'R'iia_ is beginning to pick up outside, wind wailing around the AT-AT, so she seals the hatch and lights her salvaged lamps, illuminating them in a golden-red glow. Rey gives Kylo sideways looks under her eyebrows as all three of them sit on the floor and eat together. He's strange-looking, but not ugly. There's not much of his uncle in his long face. They share bags under their eyes, likely caused by sleepless nights travelling, but there the resemblance ends. Kylo has black hair, long enough to brush the back of his neck, where his uncle Arion's is a sandy brown-blonde. His nose is enormous, slightly crooked, and he has a wide, full mouth, set at a strange angle and bracketed by high cheekbones and a slender jaw with a crooked chin. Moles dot his face, and his dark eyes, nearly almond-shaped, are absurdly gentle above his severe nose.

She feels like she should say something. "So where will you go after the storm lets up?" she asks.

Arion thinks about that for a moment. "Well, we need to find transport back to our ship. We left it fifty or sixty klicks south of Tuanul."

"Oh, no," says Rey, dismayed. Of course they couldn't have known, they're offworlders, but— "Your ship's _long_ gone. The scavengers likely got to it already if the sinking sands didn't."

Kylo glares at her as if it's her fault. "We landed away from the sinking sands."

"They shift," she explains, "when the _X'us'R'iia_ comes through. We'll have to find you new transport offworld. Plutt has ships, but you'd be hard-pressed to get a bargain."

Arion considers. "We have credits."

She shakes her head. "Credits are worthless out here. You need something with intrinsic value, you know; food or water or conducting metals. I might have some Hosnian smelt somewhere—"

"You don't need to do that," Arion says. "We'll figure it out." He looks at Kylo, and something unspoken seems to pass between them.

Rey frowns. "The storm could last for days. By then the ships he has might not even be functioning."

"Where else could we go?"

She thinks about that for a moment. Cratertown usually has a few traders coming in and out to snatch up smelt and other valuable things, but that's almost six hundred klicks to the north. There are really no other options. "We could try Cratertown," she suggests. "It's a little far, but it's worth a shot. There's sometimes traders coming in and out, and you might be able to catch a ride offworld."

"How far?" asks Kylo.

"Five hour ride on the speeder," she tells him, and takes a little pleasure in watching his face as he reacts to that. "You can ride in the net, if you like. Your uncle can sit with m—"

" _No_ ," he barks out sharply, and his pale face colors with blood as Arion raises an eyebrow. "I mean. That's fine. I can ride fine. I'll be fine by the time the storm's over."

"Okay," she says, narrowing her eyes. She licks her plate clean and sets it aside. "Now we just have to find a place for you two to sleep. Arion, you can take my hammock—"

"Absolutely out of the question," says the kindly man. "You've opened your home and let us stay, and I'm not that old. You sleep in your own bed."

*

The floor space in the main room isn't big enough for two people to sleep on, so Luke volunteers to sleep in the garage. The static curtain keeps the sand and the cold night air out, and he finds a comfortable spot on the sandy floor and rolls up in the ragged blanket Rey gave him.

Ben curls up on the floor of the main room, feet facing the hatch, and watches Rey shed her wraps and climb into her hammock, facing toward him. Her face is still smudged with dirt, and her eyes narrow slightly in the gloom of the one dimmed lamp.

"Do you normally stare at people to go to sleep?" she asks, and Ben jolts. He hadn't realized he'd been staring, and heat floods his face.

"No," he grunts, and rolls over, looking away from her. Gradually, he notices that her breathing is slowing, becoming even and deep, interspersed with little sniffs, and realizes he's focused so deeply on every little move or sound she makes that if someone crashes through the door, he wouldn't even notice.

 _What is the matter with you?_ He shifts, trying to get comfortable. _She's a scavenger. A nobody from a dirthole planet who's just trying to help you get offworld, don't get distracted, there's a mission at hand—_ but no matter how hard he tries to convince himself not to think about her, he finds himself unable to stop.

He knows from past experience that if he's not careful, his thoughts and emotions can bleed over to others through the Force. A tentative reach out, and he confirms Luke is asleep, his guard up as it usually is (a talent he'd had to cultivate quickly, as being surrounded by Force-sensitive teenagers with explosive emotions and wandering thoughts was _not_ something he had been keen on experiencing).

Rey is still out like a light, and he bites his lower lip, allowing himself to imagine, just for a moment, that Luke isn't here: that it's only him and Rey.

_She's touching his arms. She reaches up and cups his face in her dirty hand, and presses her body to his, like on the bike, but she rocks against the juncture of thigh and body, and he's hard: he's pressing into her—_

Ben realizes he's fully hard, and fights the base urge that sweeps across him, fists clenching at either side. _Don't give in_ , he thinks dizzily, trying to control himself. _Don't give in, don't touch yourself._ His hips cant up in spite of himself, and the friction against his snug-fitting pants is just enough to bring brief respite.

Then the awful urge doubles. Ben clamps his own hand across his mouth and twists slightly, rolling onto his back and gripping the blanket with his other hand, bucking up again into the sweet resistance offered by his trousers. _It doesn't count if I'm not actually touching myself_ , he tells himself desperately, as he has a few—all right, many—times before, and bucks up again, thinking about Rey, and how much he wants to pull her close and—

To his left, Rey makes a low noise in her sleep. It's not a tired noise, or a noise that suggests she was talking in her sleep, but instead it's a noise that suggests pain, possibly—

No. It's definitely not pain. Ben uses it as fuel. He bucks his hips again, and shuts his eyes, focusing on his fantasy: Rey moaning above him, grinding on him, calling him _Ben_ —

"Ben," gasps Rey, very distinctly, from the hammock. " _Yes_ , Ben," and in his fantasy, which he is suddenly _not_ controlling anymore, she presses her forehead to his and catches his mouth between her lips, whimpering, her body flattened against his.

Ben Solo clamps down over his mouth and comes in his pants, white-hot release arcing up his spine, and cuts off his imaginary scene as soon as he's finished. Rey is quiet, her breathing returned to normal. There's a drying, sticky mess in his basics that he'll have to deal with later, but his clearing mind is focused on the girl in the hammock.

She'd called him _Ben_.

She had _felt_ him.

That distinctly strange, unsettling feeling he's had ever since he set foot on the sands of Jakku, that disturbance in the Force, comes back a hundredfold, and he's finally pinpointed a source: it's the scavenger in rags, sleeping, dirt smudged across her nose. _She_ is the disturbance; has been the whole time—but Ben shuts his eyes and reaches out, and he realizes it's not a disturbance at all, and with that understanding it melts away, leaving him shaken.

There's never been a disturbance. There's been an _awakening_.

_Have you felt it?_


	2. do not come too close

Rey jolts awake, feeling as if someone had been standing over her and calling her name just a second prior. She sits up, swaying slightly in her hammock, and catches her breath, turning to look at the dim shape on the floor. Kylo is curled up on his side, facing away from her. His broad back rises and falls gently.

Heat rushes to her cheeks. She'd had a dream—it had seemed so real; she'd been clinging to his enormous body, her forehead pressed to his, and his name hadn't been Kylo at all; it had been something else she couldn't remember. She'd ground down on him, panting, making noises she'd never made in her life before, and she'd kissed him: the dream had shifted into something else, then; only herself alone, sitting outside and watching the storm blow past her without touching her. _Come back_ , she had cried in the dream, and she didn't know who she was crying out to. _Come back!_

Rey swings out of the hammock, trying to quiet her pounding heart. A quick wipe-bath would help to ground her senses a little and chase away the dreams. Quickly, she steps out of her sleeping nook and goes to the wall, easing open the valve that let her precious water out of the reservoir and into the small pan she used once or twice a week. Her washcloth plops into the pan, and she steps noiselessly to the hatch, peering out the little transparisteel bubble to see if the weather would let her wash.

BB-8 activates at the movement and takes in the room, looking at the prone and sleeping man on the floor, then peers up at Rey with an inquisitive little hoot. "It's fine," she whispers to it. "Just had a bad dream. I'm going to bathe." The droid rolls away slightly to give her privacy.

Outside, the sand is still blowing furiously, and she sighs to herself. Fine. She can just wash in here. It's still early, and both her guests are asleep. She steps behind the hammock, just in case, and strips down to her basics, scrubbing at her arms and chest with the wet cloth.

 _The offworlders will probably be used to soap_ , she thinks dismally. Soap. What a luxury. She's not sure if she's ever seen it, but she wouldn't be shocked if Plutt had some. _He probably hoards it in a back room_ , she thinks to herself. Soap, and he probably had a real fresher, too, not a hole dug in the dunes. Rey takes down her hair and finger-combs it as best she can, letting it drift in greasy locks around her shoulders. She leans down to scrub at a smudge on her knee, and something moves in the corner of her eye as BB-8 burbles. She turns her head, sees a boot, and jolts back upright without a noise, instinctively covering her chest with her arms and the washcloth.

It's Kylo. He's standing there with a blank, intent expression on his face, and he's _staring at her_ and she's as good as naked. BB-8 is whipping its dome back and forth, rotating wildly, trying to figure out what's going on. "I didn't mean to startle you," he says softly, and Rey backs up until her back presses against cold durasteel. The dream bursts back into her mind again, and she fights to keep her composure. Kylo's eyes settle on the floor. "I was just—I—I'm—"

"Turn around," she demands, and he does as she asks, his back to her. She tries to calm down. "If you want a wipe-shower you'll have to wait a moment."

"All right," he says simply. "I'll wait."

Rey exhales hard and finishes scrubbing herself clean, until the water in the pan is filthy and her hair is as clean as she can get it without soap. She stands up, peeks behind her shoulder, to make sure Kylo isn't looking (he's not), takes the pan to the recycling unit she made, and dumps it in. The unit hums, and she turns, grabs for her shirt, pulls it back on, and turns back toward Kylo, all the important bits covered. "Right. Turn around."

He turns, and his eyes sweep across her like he's fighting it, settling on the wall behind her. "I, uh, assume that's the water valve," he says.

"Yeah. Hold on." Rey holds the pan under it and cranks the valve open again, and water splashes into it. "You use the cloth," she explains as it fills, "and just wipe yourself down. No fancy soap, sorry."

"That's fine," he tells her, and steps forward, joining her behind the hammock. Rey backs up automatically again, watching him as he tugs his tunic off and hooks his thumbs into his pants. "Ah," he says, looking at her.

"Oh, right," she says too quickly, and turns around, listening as the fabric is put aside and the sound of water sloshing fills the tiny space. "Um, when you're done, just dump the water into the recycling unit," she says quickly. The area feels far too small for comfort, and she sidesteps the hammock, puts her trousers back on, and heads back into the main area, fiddling with her stove.

BB-8 rolls up and lets out a quiet string of smug-sounding hoots. "I do _not_ ," she hisses furiously under her breath. "Even if he _is_ a Resistance spy! You shut up."

Kylo is still washing. Rey steels herself, peeks backward, and nearly falls over. He's got his back to her, and the hammock is shielding her eyes from anything too scandalous, but he's _big_ , with the kind of build that comes from good nutrition and strenuous exercise: corded with muscle and broad-chested, long planes of muscle filling out his back. She wonders if Resistance spies are all fed this well. Do they all get three meals a day of flatbread and mushrooms?

He turns around to ask her something, and their eyes lock; Kylo realizing she's been peeking just as _she_ realizes he'd stripped off his basics to wash, and he's currently _stark naked_ in her _home_ and he's got a _massive_ —

"Morning," says Arion from behind her at almost the same tie, and she jumps a foot, blushing furiously as Kylo turns back around, studiously still washing. BB-8 burbles happily, and Arion leans down to pat it on its dome. "Hope I haven't slept through the storm."

"No," Rey tells him quickly, trying to put what she's just seen out of her mind, "it's still going on. I thought I'd make breakfast. We have some leftover food from last night, but getting up to the head in this weather's going to be a pain."

"Neck's crushed, I saw that," Arion says, sitting down in one of the seats. "No passage through there, huh?"

"Nope," says Rey, getting out a small bowl of water. "So it's polystarch for all of us until the _X'us'R'iia_ blows over." The embarrassment is fading now, and Kylo steps out from behind her hammock, clean and damp with his trousers pulled back on, but not done up the front. She averts her eyes from the expanse of dark fur trailing into his pants.

"You forgetting something?" Arion asks his nephew, eyebrow raised.

Kylo rolls his eyes. "Basics need to be washed."

The older man grins. "What, did you wet yourself on the speeder ride? I didn't think it was _that_ fast." Rey giggles in spite of the affronted look on Kylo's face, and he snatches up a fresh loaf of polystarch bread before stomping off to a corner and tearing into it.

"Fortunately," says Arion, leaning in conspiratorially, "nothing scares me, so I don't need a bath."

Rey grins between mouthfuls. "How was the floor in the garage? Not too bad?"

"I've slept on far worse surfaces," he tells her, and takes a bite out of the loaf.

*

They sit around most of the day, waiting for the storm to pass. Rey shows Ben her flight simulator, and he's quickly absorbed in the controls. "You're a good pilot," she says, sounding impressed as she watches over his shoulder. "Have you flown real ships?"

He tries not to let the note of approval in her voice go to his head. "Yeah, mostly transports. I would have liked to be a pilot for the Resistance, but—" Ben catches himself. _But my mother wouldn't hear of it, and I'm training to be a Jedi,_ he finishes silently. "But I didn't quite qualify," he amends.

"Oh," says Rey, looking interested.

"You certainly have a knack for machinery," Luke tells her from the corner where he's sitting with his head resting against the wall. "Ever thought about getting off-planet and enlisting? You'd be a hell of a mechanic."

"Oh, I—" Rey blushes and looks away. "I like the idea, but—my place is here."

"Your _place_?" Ben cranes his head back to look at her.

"I'm waiting for someone," she says defensively.

Luke and Ben exchange looks. "Waiting for who?" Luke asks.

"My family. They'll be back someday," she says firmly, and crosses to the hatch, checking the weather. "Looks like the storm is settling a little. We should start packing up. It's a long haul to Cratertown."

*

The journey out is brutal. Ben, thighs still aching from the day before, has no choice but to hold on to Rey's waist, and more than once she shifts back a little, her backside settled firmly between his legs. She was kind enough to loan him a pair of arm-bindings, but sand still trickles into his tunic, and the heat beating down on his wrapped head is enough to make him dizzy.

They pull over and stop once to get a drink, and he can barely stand upright. Luke, from his cramped position in the net, unfolds himself and rubs blood back into his limbs. "How much further?" he asks Rey.

Rey stretches and cracks her neck. "About the same," she says. "Drink up." She tosses Ben her metal canteen, and he forces himself not to gulp it all down and save some for Luke. His lips feel like they're going to peel off his face, and the unrelenting sun beats down and down.

*

Cratertown is a ramshackle, thrown-together old village with a single cantina in the center and populated by both humans and Teedos. Rey slides off her speeder seat with a suppressed hiss, and reaches up to help Ben down.

"I'm fine," he growls through his teeth, and falls off again, sprawling in the dust on his knees. Both thighs feel as if the muscle is melting. "Force take it," he spits, and regrets the language as soon as he sees Luke's reproachful face peering at him from the cargo webbing.

Rey seems interested. "The Force, huh? So that's your belief system?" She hauls him up to his feet and he leans on her.

"It's just a saying," he insists. BB-8 drops out of the webbing and rolls up, chortling. "Oh, laugh it up," he snaps at the droid. "You don't even have muscles."

Rey grins. "I'll help your uncle down. Arion, watch your step!" She darts around Ben, and he watches her go with some envy. She's resilient, even more so than he is. It isn't every day he meets someone like that.

Rey gets Luke untangled from the net and they start off toward the bar, BB-8 rolling along behind them. "I hope he's got a lead," she says, almost to herself. "I do _not_ want to make that trip back today."

"You and me both," says Ben, and they step through the doors into blessed cool air. There's not a lot of people in the cantina at this hour, it still being mid-afternoon, but there's a man behind the bar, wiping it down with a cloth. He looks up and his face creases in recognition.

"Why, if it isn't Rey!" He's heavy-set, with stubble, and wearing a large apron. "Last time I saw you, you were punching out my best customer."

"He would have gotten off easy if he hadn't tried to cheat me," Rey says, leaning on the table. "Ergel, I sort of have an emergency. These two got themselves stranded and need a lift offworld. You don't know anyone with room, do you?"

"Hmm." Ergel gives Luke and Ben a searching look. "Offworlders, huh?" He screws his face up, trying to think. "It's a shame you weren't here a month ago. We had a cargo ship travelling to the Core. The Core! Imagine." He shook his head, as if amazed at the fact that a ship could even travel to the Core. "No, no more offworlders have come through here in over a fortnight. I'm sorry, Rey."

Ben shuts his eyes and sinks down onto a creaky stool. _Great. We're stranded on this backwater, with no way off._

"Can I get you a drink?" asks Ergel. "Got Knockback Nectar here. My specialty."

"I don't think that would be wise," says Luke politely, and turns to Rey. "If I step out for a moment to use the fresher, will you keep an eye on my nephew?"

She nods, and he walks off. Ben looks up at Ergel. "You take credits?" he asks.

"Kylo," says Rey in a reproachful tone, "I really don't think—"

"For a friend of Rey's, it's on the house," says Ergel, and pours a generous amount of whatever Knockback Nectar is into a cup. "Down it in one go, it's better that way. Cheers." He slides it across the counter to Ben, who clutches it in his fingers. It looks almost exactly like hydraulic fluid, and there are spongy chunks floating in it.

"Kylo—" Rey tries again, and he flings his head back and gulps down the stuff in one go.

It's the worst thing he's ever put in his mouth by far. The effect is almost like having Rey punch him in the nose again. He's fairly sure his teeth are rattling out of his skull, his mouth is numb, and his gut roils wickedly. Ben chokes, splutters, and manages to croak out, "What the _hell_ is that?" His voice has gone raw, and his center of balance has shifted to somewhere way, way left of where he's sitting. Rey's hands prop him up, and Ergel laughs heartily from somewhere in front of him.

"Ha! Always gets the first-timers. I'll tell you what, son. I don't even know what's in it. I don't ask questions from the people I buy it from!"

"It's probably better if you don't know," says Rey, and pulls him off the stool. He can't quite stand, and wobbles to the door with one arm flung around her shoulder as she shouts a thank-you to Ergel. "R'iia's ass, you're heavy."

"Thank you," he slurs. He thinks he might throw up, and prays to the Force: _do not let me throw up on this woman._

"It'll wear off in about fifteen minutes." She deposits him onto a bench outside. "Where has your uncle got to now?"

Ben opens his mouth to say something, but stops short. There's a strange, scudding, wailing sound, coming from high above, and he turns and looks at Rey in horror. "TIE fighters," he manages.

She stares at him, not grasping what he's saying, and that's when the four black fighters appear in the sky overhead, firing emerald bolts across the main street. Sand kicks up in bursts, and Ben instinctively covers Rey, shielding her with his body. _Lighshaber. Shaber. Saber! Luke! Where—_

The TIEs veer away to come back around, and Rey leaps off the bench. "Come on!" she shouts, and Ben struggles to move, his head swimming. " _Ugh!_ " She grabs him by the hand, and starts half-dragging him across the street, BB-8 following and shrieking in alarm as the population of the town scatters, yelling in terror and running for cover. Rey drags Ben down an alley and huddles down. "Where's your uncle?" she shouts over the din.

"I don't—" Ben struggles to focus, inwardly cursing at himself. Why the hell had he decided that _drinking_ was a good idea? "Don't know!"

"We have to find him!" she bellows, and stands up. "You stay here with BB-8! Don't let them find him!"

"I—" Ben keels over, feeling sick, and Rey takes off running back toward the bar, her felted boots kicking up sand. He leans on the droid. "Sorry," he slurs. BB-8 chirps at him. His vision is swimming, and he can hear the fighters coming back, the sound of the engines growing louder. Slowly, he crawls to the end of the alley, and peers out.

Rey's in the middle of the street, shouting for Arion at the top of her lungs, and her back is to the squadron of fighters, streaking toward her. Ben can suddenly sense with astonishing clarity the finger of the lead pilot, curling back on his trigger, crosshairs aimed directly at the girl's head—

" _Rey!"_ he screams, and launches himself out of the alley, staggering toward her as fast as he can as a bright green bolt flashes directly into—

Ben knocks her to the ground and flings his hands out in futile desperation, waiting for the heat to incinerate him, but the bolt never strikes.

Instead it freezes midair, crackling and spitting fire the color of a deep forest, and Rey rolls over, sputtering, and her eyes fix on him in shock.

The TIE's are sweeping around for the third run, and Rey crawls backward, terror in her eyes, as Ben aims and releases the bolt with a gasp. It flies back the way it came and smashes directly into the left side of the lead fighter's cockpit, and the thing rolls to the ground far beyond the perimeter of Cratertown and explodes in a burst of orange fire.

Ben turns to Rey, hand out. "Rey—"

"Get _away_ from me," she gasps, and Luke rounds the corner, saber out and ignited, humming in the air. She stares at him with wide, startled eyes.

"What did I miss?" he asks. His eyes find Ben, and the Force probes his neurological system. Ben can feel it, like a tickle. "Are you _drunk_?"

"Yes," says Ben stubbornly, and mentally tries to swat his uncle's mind away from his.

"You're Jedi," says Rey, scrambling to her feet. "You're _Jedi_. Are you—I bet you're not even his _uncle._ "

"We'll talk about that later. There are still three fighters. Ground troop transport is approaching. We need to go." Luke deactivates his saber and flings Ben's to him. Ben catches it and hangs it clumsily from his belt.

"Go where?" Rey asks, outraged. "We can't use the speeder to escape. We're sitting ducks in that."

"Steal a ground troop transport, then," says Ben with a little less difficulty. "They won't suspect us until we're out of range, and we can get back to Niima and shteal a—steal a ship."

"Well, it's not the best plan, but it should work," says Luke, shrugging. "All right. You two stay close with the droid—where's the droid?"

BB-8 bobbles up, its dome whirling about in agitation. It's banged up and dusty, but none the worse for wear, and lets out a string of beeps. "Good," says Rey, and turns to the men. "There's two troop transports coming our way."

"We'll hide ourselves and sneak on board one," says Luke. "Come on."

*

They find a place behind a garbage bin, and peek out as the transports land and troops begin to march out, four by four, spreading over the town. "How did they even find us?" asks Ben, his head finally clear.

"Someone in the bar must have sold us out," says Rey, fists clenched. "The Order has allies everywhere."

Luke pulls his head back. "All right. You two stay close to me. Don't make any sudden movements or noises. Got it?"

"Master," says Ben, exasperated, "I _am_ sobering up, and I've seen you do this a million times."

"I was talking to our scavenger friend and the droid," says Luke, pretending to be offended as Ben rolls his eyes. "All right. Come on."

They step out and follow him closely, BB-8 absolutely silent as it bumps over sand ripples and creeps close to Rey's ankles. The troopers don't even see them, thanks to Luke's casual misdirection of attention using the Force, and they slip into the backside of the closest transport without being spotted.

Once they're in, however, they come face-to-face with a featureless white mask. Apparently they'd left one lone trooper to guard the transport. "Hey!" says an indignant voice from beneath it. "You can't be in here—"

Ben reaches forward quickly and takes the trooper's consciousness. He crumples to the floor, and Ben carefully props him up against the interior wall. He hadn't drawn his weapon on sight, and Ben hadn't sensed any willingness to kill from him, so it doesn't feel right to just dump him outside.

Luke climbs into the pilot's seat and closes the ramp. "Shields up," he says, and flips a few switches. "This thing will get us to Niima Outpost, and from there we're on our own."

Rey scrambles up to the copilot's seat. "You know how to fly one of these?" she asks, astonished.

"Sure," says Luke, and pulls back on the thruster, lifting off. "Hold on. They've spotted us. It's about to get bumpy."

Ben straps himself down, and turns his head in confusion as Rey hurries past him. "Hey, where are you—"

"The trooper!" she says, tugging at the man's limp form. "We don't want to kill him, do we?"

"Well—" Ben groans and unbuckles, then joins her, lifting the trooper and settling him into a jump seat. Together, they get him locked down, and clamber back into secure seats just as Luke is forced to take evasive maneuvers and they're thrown from side to side. BB-8, tossed into the air, flings out mag-arms and revolves to face upright, suspended between the interior walls, with a reprimanding little hoot.

"They're still shooting at us," says Ben through his teeth.

"I _see_ that, and this transport doesn't have any weapons so what do you—"

Rey unbuckles and snatches up the troopers discarded blaster. "Open the back ramp," she says, holding it tightly.

"Are you out of your mind?" Ben demands.

"No! Open the ramp enough for me to see out of!" She looks outraged at their hesitancy. "It's the only weapon we've got, and the rest of them are gonna be on our tails if we don't do something!"

Luke finds the controls and overrides the auto-lock, lowering the ramp. "Be careful!" he barks, and Rey scurries back, clinging to the hydraulic post with one hand and aiming out the back with the other.

Ben holds onto the above-head grips just behind her. She takes a deep breath, and he can taste the Force settling around her. She aims, waits, and fires.

The first TIE goes down in a smoking wreck over Kelvin Ridge. Ben whoops in spite of himself, and she fires again, and the second shot finds its target. The last TIE is nearly on their tail, and no sooner has Rey got the last shot off than it's fired directly at the open ramp, and Ben lunges forward, grabbing her and hitting the deck as Luke closes the ramp and diverts shield power. The transport shakes, and Ben rolls to his back, Rey on top of him, staring into his face from two inches away.

"Ah," he says awkwardly.

"Uh," says Rey, eyes huge.

"Ughhh," says a modified voice, and both of them scramble off each other and face the stirring trooper, who realizes what's happened and reaches for the buckle on his harness.

"Ah-ah," says Rey, pointing the blaster at him. "We're not gonna kill you if we don't have to, so—so don't make us… have to!"

"What?" says the trooper, sounding baffled. "Who are you?"

"I'm—no, who are _you_?" she demands.

He reaches up and takes off his helmet, looking at them with huge, startled eyes. He's young, maybe twenty, with close-cropped black hair and a broad, honest, dark face. His skin gleams with sweat. "FN-2187," he says. "I'm just a ground trooper. Are you—are you with the Resistance?"

"We'll answer you if you answer us," says Ben, and leans forward. "What do you know about the Resistance pilot that was taken at Tuanal last week?"

FN-2187's shoulders sag. "Poe Dameron, right?" BB-8 releases itself from the ceiling and rolls closer, burbling angrily, rolling back and forth in tight little circles. "Hey, hey, I didn't arrest him! HEY!" BB-8 whips out a welder arm and lights a tiny blue flame, rolling close to the trooper's knee. The meaning is very clear. "Stop that! No, I was in that landing party. They arrested him and took him on board the _Finalizer_. Big Star Destroyer. General Hux wanted to interrogate him personally."

"General who?" asks Rey.

"Hux." FN-2187 shudders. "He's—" The man's dark eyes flicker back and forth, as if he's afraid someone might be listening.

"You can tell us," says Ben, pushing slightly with the Force.

FN-2187 nods, swallowing. "He's—well, _crazy_ , would be a good term. Collects weird old artifacts and holocrons. People he doesn't like disappear. We don't know if anyone's in command of him, but I had a friend who had a blockmate who got assigned as janitorial staff to a top secret base where they're working on some kind of weapon."

"A weapon? What kind of weapon? What does it do?" Ben asks intently.

"I don't know," says FN-2187, shaking his head. "I really don't know. I don't even know where the base is. All I know is that Poe Dameron got arrested last week and we're looking for that droid of his—" he shoots BB-8 a nervous look— "because it's supposed to have information about General Leia Organa on it. Hux wants her."

"Why does Hux want her?" demands Ben.

"Valuable political prisoner, I guess," says FN-2187.

"Rey, you sit here with our friend," says Ben, standing up. "I'm going to have a word with my uncle."

"Oh, you _are_ related. Good to know," she says, and plops down next to FN-2187.

*

"I assume this Hux wants to hold your mother hostage or use her as a pawn," says Luke softly. "Of course she went into hiding. If no one can find her, the Order can't wrangle her location out of anyone."

Ben shuts his eyes. The last time he'd seen his mother was four years ago; the last time he'd spoken to his father a little before that. Han, wherever he was, likely had no idea where she was, either—after the amicable separation, they'd gone their own ways, and Ben hadn't even known his own parents weren't living together anymore until he'd caught a blurb on the cover of a gossip holomag on a mission to Coruscant…

"Okay," he says, trying to pull himself together. "So what do we do?"

"We'll be at Niima Outpost in about ten minutes," says Luke. "We land in the shipyard, find a ship, commandeer it, and fly back to the base."

"What about the trooper and the girl?" Ben shoots a look back. Rey is frowning at the trooper, who is guiltily looking at the floor.

"The trooper can be set free in Niima if he wants. Rey can go her own way as soon as we find a ship." Luke sits back and gives Ben a searching look. "You don't like that."

Ben shuffles his feet. "No," he says reluctantly. "I think she's strong with the Force. I felt—I thought it was a disturbance, when we landed. It was her. She's like a—I don't know. A live wire. Untrained, but stronger than she knows."

"You're sure of this?" Luke asks, glancing back toward Rey.

"She took down three TIEs hanging out the back of the transport armed with a blaster," says Ben. "I think that's enough to go off. Besides—" He shuts his mouth instantly, not wanting to bring up the dream, but Luke's interest is piqued.

"Besides what?"

"Nothing, only—well, I was daydreaming last night when you were asleep, and I know you're usually blocked out—you know, so you don't have nightmares about nanny droids chasing you—" Luke chuckles at that, and Ben continues. "But as I was…uh, daydreaming, I heard her saying what I was thinking in her sleep. As if we were connected."

"Mmm," says Luke, looking as if he's considering that.

"And that's not all," says Ben. "She, uh, said my name. _My_ name."

Luke frowns and turns. "Rey!" he calls, and Ben goes rigid. _Oh no, no, no—_ "Come up here a moment, would you?"

Rey steps forward, BB-8 studiously guarding FN-2187, and puts her hand on the back of Luke's seat. "Yeah?"

"My nephew here says he thinks you might be Force-sensitive." Ben feels his ears go hot. "You didn't happen to have a strange dream last night? Not one that you'd normally have, I mean?"

Rey goes the color of a sunset and swallows. She very much does not look at Ben, and Ben can't bring himself to look at her. "Uh, I did, yes," she squeaks. "Have a—a weird dream."

Luke doesn't seem to sense their discomfort at all. "And in this dream, you said a name. Do you remember what the name was?"

Every second ticking by is pure agony. Ben wants to fling himself out the back hatch. Rey swallows again and nods. "It—I can't quite remember it. But it was—it wasn't _Ren_ —was it—oh! Ben! It was _Ben_."

"How about that," says Luke, beaming. "Nice intuition, Ben."

"Wait—" Rey turns and finally looks at Ben, the surprise beating out the embarrassment. "Your name— _your_ real name is Ben?"

"Yeah," he mutters. "Don't wear it out."

"So your name isn't really Arion Whitesun, is it?" she asks Luke, looking betrayed.

"Nope," says Luke. "I'll tell you what it is once we're offplanet, though."

"Off—" Rey looks torn, and Ben can sense her indecision. She desperately wants to stay here, waiting for someone—but the promise of adventure, of escape, of _freedom_ — "Okay. Offplanet." She shifts and meets Ben's eyes, and there's a strange little touch in her emotions, a curiosity about _him_ , a budding interest in what and who he is—

"Coming in hot," says Luke, and starts to descend. "You keep FN back there on his feet, and get ready to run."

"He's in armor. That's definitely not going to be conspicuous," says Rey.

"We're far enough away that nobody's going to see him," says Ben. "FN, can you snag your helmet and run?"

"Y—yeah!" stutters FN-2187 in excitement. "Yeah, let me—" He unbuckles and picks his bucket up, and they come to a halt, the ramp opening and letting in the hot, bright sunshine.

"Pick a ship and run," says Luke. "That big one there with the tarp—"

"That one's garbage," says Rey derisively, "hasn't flown in years—"

Ben's heart goes to his throat. He recognizes the ship: the make, the model, the modifications on the undercarriage.

"Ben!" shouts Luke, but Ben's already running toward the Corellian freighter, his heart singing. _Dad's ship!_ shouts his unconscious. _Dad!_ The ramp is down and he races up it, followed hotly by Rey, Luke, FN-2187, and BB-8, screeching in alarm as bolts of energy slam into the sand behind it.

"They're here," says Rey tersely. "What do we _do_ —"

Luke doesn't even look at the interior, just climbs into the cockpit and starts the engines. There's no time for nostalgia now. "Ben, get up here and give me a hand!"

"Coming!" Ben races up the corridor and plonks himself down in the copilot's seat, adjusting the comlink over his face. "Rey, get down into the gunner's pit. Down the hall, past the main hold, down the ladder. Now!"

Rey shouts back agreement and the ship rocks with sustained fire. "Shields are holding," says Luke, flicking switches like a madman as they rise into the air. "Come on, don't let us down, old girl."

"I'm positioned, Ben!" shouts Rey, small and tinny in Ben's ear.

"Good. Stay there and keep your eyes open." Ben fiddles with the controls, memory coming back to him as easily as breathing. "I'm bringing the targeting computer online. You see it?"

"Yeah! I see it!"

"All right, stay put and stand by."

FN-2187 appears again in the doorway behind them. "What do I do?" he pants.

"You stay with BB-8 and find something to hold on to," says Luke, and yanks the throttle back. " _There_ we go!"

"Whoo!" shrieks Ben, and they streak off, whirling in a loop, as the new TIEs come down in full pursuit. "Rey, fire at will!" FN-2187 shouts in terror and clings to the wall, and BB-8 beeps at him angrily.

Scarlet bolts shoot backward, and streak past the TIEs. One connects, and the ship goes sailing down in a lazy, tight spiral toward the surface, where it bursts into a fireball. "Nice shooting!" shouts Luke in approval.

Rey's voice comes through the comms. "Thanks! This is _fun_ —"

"Stay low!" says FN-2187, heaving himself through the doorway again. "Their sensors can't find you if you stay close to the surface, it interferes—"

"Say no more," says Luke, and guides the ship down, skimming the sand dunes. He nicks the left side of the ship against the ground and mutters to himself.

"Let me fly her," says Ben, looking over at his uncle. "I can do it."

"Yeah, yeah, all right," says Luke, hurriedly scrambling out of his seat and switching with Ben. "You _don't_ tell your dad about this."

"Not a word," says Ben, elated, and curls his hands around the controls. He can sense every inch of this ship, down to its engine wiring, its computer; he's part of it and it's part of him. He pulls the controls, and the ship responds exactly as he knew it would.

Rey shoots down the last three TIEs in short order, and within minutes they're escaping Jakku's atmosphere, the blue sky deepening to black as Ben sets it to autopilot and climbs out of the seat.

They all congregate in the main hold, Rey nearly bowling Ben over with excitement. "I did it!" she shrieks, gripping his arms and beaming. "Your flying was _brilliant_ —I can't believe—"

He grins back at her. "You were _great_ —"

Luke is smiling at FN-2187. "Good thinking about the scanners, kid."

The trooper is blushing. "Oh, no, that was just—"

Something in the floor grate pops free and smoke starts hissing out. Rey instantly darts for it, hauling the grate out of the floor. "Help me with this!" she orders, and three pairs of hands reach out.

*

Far across the Western Reaches, deep within the bowels of an Upsilon-class Star Destroyer, locked in a tiny interrogation room, a man is strapped to an upright table. He wears only a blood-stained, stinking shirt and a pair of trousers: he's been stripped of his shoes and his jacket, which have disappeared. He doesn't remember where they were taken. There's blood on his face, mingled with sweat: his hair is lank and dirty, and a spider-droid hovers in the corner, waiting and watching.

 _It comes when he sleeps._ The man stiffens and takes in air, trying to stay awake. He doesn't remember the last time he slept, or ate, or even how long he's been here: they've allowed him to drink minimal amounts of water—enough to keep him alive, not enough to drive the cracked and bleeding dryness away from his mouth. The needles, the injections of titroxinate, the lights and sirens going off at random times—those have all kept him awake enough to be aware of his surroundings.

The door slides open with a soft hiss, and a figure walks in, posture perfect and correct, silhouette cut flawlessly. "Ah, you're awake," says a clipped, male voice. "Good."

The man strapped to the table rolls his head up and takes in the features on the face as the visitor steps into the light. Red hair, combed into a severe military style; pale green eyes that fix on his; a pasty face above the impeccable black silk collar of his shirt; lips pressed into a disapproving line.

"Captain Dameron," says General Armitage Hux of the First Order, "let's have a little _talk_."


	3. the wisdom of old men

"It's the bloody motivator. Get me a Harris wrench." Rey pops her head out from under the grating, and waves the steam away from her face. "Quick!"

FN-2187 digs through the toolbox as she ducks down below again. He's discarded his armor, and he's wearing only his black undershirt and trousers. "How bad is it?" he asks anxiously.

"Bad," says Ben, crouching at the edge and peering down into the hole. Rey emerges again, like some sort of rodent, too preoccupied to offer an explanation. FN-2187 hands Rey the wrench and she disappears again. "If we don't get it patched up, it'll flood the ship with poisonous gas when the propulsion tank overflows."

Luke tosses a roll of bonding tape to her, and she catches it without looking, one arm extended above the lip of the grate. "We're in good hands," he assures FN-2187. Sure enough, the leak stops, the smoke dissipates, and Rey climbs out, easily lifting herself on both hands and sitting on the edge of the grate, looking pleased with herself and reeking of motivator fluid.

"We have to get out of this system," says FN-2187 urgently. "They're going to be tracking us, and if those reinforcements on the surface came that quickly, there's a Star Destroyer somewhere close by—"

The lights on the ship go dark all at once, and the emergency lighting flickers on, leaving them in a dim red glow.

"That's not good," says Luke, and they all exchange looks before racing off to the cockpit. Ben plops into the pilot's seat and Rey peers down at the instrument panel as Luke peers up through the transparisteel.

"Someone's locked onto us. The controls are dead," Rey says tightly, and cranes her head up, trying to see. She climbs up Ben's arm and balances on his head with one hand, squinting.

"Ow, get _off_ ," says Ben, wincing. "Can you see anything?"

"Oh, _no_ ," says Rey.

Above them, a massive freighter is looming. They're slowly, slowly being sucked into the hangar bay, and there is nothing they can do about it.

"It's got to be the Order," says FN-2187, looking ashen, and taps Rey on the shoulder. "Can you—you said you fixed that leak. Can you…break it again? Our masks don't filter out toxins, only smoke."

"Ohhh," says Rey, understanding breaking over her face. " _Oh_."

They race back to the main hold and snatch the two gas masks off the wall as Luke pats his belt to ensure his saber is secure. "The hole isn't big enough for four," FN-2187 says.

"You have a blaster, right? You come with me," says Luke. "Ben, you and Rey get down with the droid and stay out of sight."

Rey nods and swings down into the hole. She and Ben struggle to get the droid down: it weighs a lot and her foot slips, bringing the unit crashing down beside her. Ben jumps in. "You all right?"

"I'm fine," she says, and sits up, dragging the mask over her mouth and nose. "Get your mask on and stay quiet."

Ben drags the grate back into place as the lights flicker back on, and the sound of the ramp descending echoes faintly through the hull. "Shh!" Rey says, adrenaline pumping. It's a close fit, the pair of them practically chest to back, and he wraps his fingers around the hilt of his saber.

 _I'd kill a thousand troopers to keep her safe_ , he thinks, and doesn't care that Luke can hear. _They're not going to touch her. They're not going to—_

Steps echo up from the boarding area, and low voices reach his ears, but he doesn't bother paying attention to what they're saying, just unclips his saber and waits, pulling the Force to him, gathering it.

The grate rips away overhead with a clang, and Rey screams in alarm, throwing her hands up. Ben activates his saber, ready to leap, and stops himself short in his tracks when he sees who's boarded the ship through the crackling blue blade.

A Wookie, holding the grate in one huge hand; an older man with gray-silver hair and a leather jacket, whose blaster is pointed right at them; both wearing stunned expressions.

"Dad?" he asks, his voice cracking in astonishment like it hasn't done since he was sixteen.

" _Ben_?" asks Han Solo, just as shocked.

"Han!" says Luke from somewhere off to the left.

"What," says Rey flatly. The Wookie yowls, and she gapes up at him. "Nice to meet you, too, Chewbacca," she says.

"You can understand that thing?" asks FN-2187, baffled.

"And that _thing_ can understand you, too, so watch your mouth, kid." Han looks back down. "You two come up outta there." Ben lifts himself out and extends a hand to Rey, but she ignores it and climbs out herself. He blinks down at his father (when had he gotten this tall?) and clips his saber back to his belt. "This ship—where'd you _find_ her?" asks Han, looking around in bewilderment as they step out into the corridor.

"Niima Outpost," says Rey instantly.

"Jakku," says Han, sounding disgruntled. "I knew we should have double-checked the Western Reaches. Who had it, Ducain?"

Rey shakes her head. "We stole it from Unkar Plutt. _He_ stole it from the Irving Boys, and they stole it from Ducain."

"Who stole it from _me_ ," says Han, and turns to Luke. "Long time no see, huh?"

"Good to see you again," says Luke, smiling, and the two men embrace tightly. "If the Falcon's back in the hands of Han Solo, all's right with the galaxy."

"The—the _Millennium_ Falcon?" Rey stops short, aghast. "You're Han _Solo_?"

"Used to be," says Han, and disappears up the corridor to the cockpit.

"The—the Rebellion general?" FN-2187 looks baffled.

"No, the smuggler," Rey tells him. "This is the ship that made the Kessel run in fourteen parsecs!"

"Twelve!" Han shouts from down the corridor.

Rey turns on Ben. "Wait. Your _father_ is Han Solo?"

He doesn't have time to answer that one. "Hey!" shouts Han, coming back down the corridor. "Some moof-milker's put a compressor lock on the ignition line!"

Rey darts toward him, eager to be involed. "I thought it was a mistake, too. Unkar Plutt did it—but it puts too much—"

"Stress on the hyperdrive," Han says, just as she does, and stares at her in frank admiration. "Huh."

"Han," says Luke, stepping forward. "We've got to get this droid to the Resistance as soon as possible."

BB-8 burbles a little, and Han looks down at it and shakes his head. "I'm done with the Resistance," he says sourly. "I told them _years_ ago—"

"It's got a message from Mom," says Ben, and the room goes dead silent.

"From your mom," says Han, and sinks into a seat. One hand comes up to cover his face. "Well. That, uh. Complicates things."

Rey gets down on her knees and beckons BB-8 over. "There's no way you can play it, right?" she asks under her breath, and BB-8 gives a mournful little tootle, bobbing its dome, then lets out a perky string of beeps, its photoreceptor on Ben. "Wait, really?"

"What?" asks Luke.

"BB-8 says that the message he's got can only be played if someone with an over forty-five percent match to General Organa's genetic code opens it." Rey sits back. "I didn't know you had a genetic scanner capability," she tells BB-8.

Han blinks. "She designed it to be read by her brother… or her son," he says bluntly.

"Her—" Rey swivels and looks at Luke. "You're _Luke Skywalker_ ," she says, mouth open, and Ben can almost see the stars in her eyes as the pieces come together.

"I sure am," Luke says, eyes twinkling. "Told you I'd tell you when we got offplanet, didn't I?"

"Well, what are we waiting for?" asks FN-2187.

"Who are you again?" asks Han.

"Uh—" says the trooper, hesitating, and Luke puts his hand on his shoulder.

"This is F…inn. Finn. He helped us get off Jakku."

Han grunts and nods. "Finn. Nice to meet you."

Ben steps forward and crouches down by BB-8. "I'll unlock it," he says, and BB-8 focuses its photoreceptor on him for a moment, then slips a compartment out of its body with a scanner. Ben puts his finger on it and winces as a needle breaks his skin, taking a sample of blood for genetic testing. BB-8 withdraws the compartment and hesitates for a moment _, scanning the sample. The holoprojector flickers to life, and the figure of an older woman in grey robes, hair intricately braided and twisted across her head, materializes in bluish color onto the ground in front of them. She is only visible from the waist up._

 _"This is General Leia Organa of the New Republic,"_ says the woman, and Rey backs up to watch. _"If you are watching this, Luke, then perhaps there is a chance to save the Republic. And perhaps there's a chance to explain why I've done what I've done, and a chance for Ben to understand—if he is still with you, if he didn't abandon the Academy when I went away without a word of warning. Han—Ben, I can't imagine the pain they, and you, must have felt when I went away. It was necessary to protect them both—to protect all of you. Armitage Hux is working, Luke, on a massive project, a thousand times the size of the Death Star, with a hyper lightspeed cannon inside the core. It drains the power of suns to work. This is at the direction of someone called Snoke, though we have not been able to gather any data on this person. Hux, at Snoke's command, plans to wipe out the New Republic with it. He calls it the Starkiller, and he will use it as soon as it is complete. But he does not know that the schematics to the station have been in my possession, Luke. We're two steps ahead of them. We always have been."_

Luke sits down heavily in the seat, his eyes wet.

 _"The oscillator shields are the key. They may appear to be impenetrable, but they are unstable. One shot to the generators will destroy the shields, and another will take down the whole station. You must get this message to the Resistance base on D'Qar, to Captain Poe Dameron. I trust that man with my life. He will be able to put together an attack on Starkiller. Go to Takodana first. Ma—"_ The message begins to sputter and crackle, half-formed syllables coming through. " _zz—th—y—it—"_

Ben Solo drops to his knees, overwhelmed, as the figure of his mother flickers and dies, disappearing for good.

"What's wrong with the message?" demands Han, looking down at the droid, who beeps back indignantly.

"He says the end part was corrupted in recording, there's no way to get it back," says Rey.

"What do we do?" asks Finn. "Dameron's still being held on the _Finalizer_."

"Yes, he is," says Luke, who appears deep in thought. Rey sneaks a glance over at Ben, and sees to her shock that his face is wet with tears. "We go to Takodana, then. We get the droid onto a clean ship—if Han could track us so quickly, the First Order can too."

"I've met Dameron once or twice," says Han. "Good kid. Knack for flying." He looks at the empty space where his wife had been, and looks back at Luke. "Split up, maybe? Launch a rescue party?"

"That's crazy," says Finn. "You'll never get on board the _Finalizer_ without clearance codes and—" He falls silent, and Luke looks at him.

"What?" he prompts.

Finn swallows. "I could get someone in."

"Are you a slicer?" asks Han, brow furrowed.

"Something like that," Finn says. "So—Takodana?"

"Takodana it is," says Han, slipping past them and marching back to the cockpit. "Shouldn't take long, maybe an hour. You kids get a nap or something, you all look exhausted. Cabin's through the back."

*

Rey is huddled into the medical bunk, and she's freezing. She'd never imagined space would be so cold, and even the blanket Luke had scrounged up for her refuses to hold any heat. She misses Jakku already: the heat, the sun. Finn is asleep on the bunk behind the dejarik table, and Ben has disappeared into the cabin down the hall.

She shuts her eyes and tries to relax, but the excitement of the day and her cold fingers won't let her rest. _Deep breath. In, out. Just shut your eyes._ Rey turns her back to the open room and imagines an ocean of water, as she has so often before to get to sleep when it comes hard. _Water, blue and deep, and in the middle, an island._ She can just make it out, imagining she's flying down over it—

 _I see the island_.

 _That_ isn't her thought. What? Rey sits up, bewildered. She tries to find her inner vision again, her daydream, but it slips away like mist, and the voice in her head that isn't hers says _Sorry. I won't interfere again._

Rey kicks out of the bunk. She knows the tone, now, and her hands are shaking. _Ben? Is that you?_ _How are you in my mind?_

He withdraws without answering, and she clenches her fists. The dream—if he was able to influence her daydreams and thoughts, had he _made_ her have that stupid dream? She starts walking down the curved corridor to the cabin and presses the door open, intending to give Ben a piece of her mind.

He's sitting inside, perched on a stool in a corner that's been configured to work as a galley and holding a mug of something steaming. Barely looking at her, he mutters, "Hello," and sips it.

"What—" Rey crosses her arms. "You made me have a dream," she accuses.

Ben shuts his eyes. "Can we please," he says flatly, "not talk about that right now. Or ever. Ever would be good—"

"I want to know why and how you did it," she snaps.

To his credit, he turns red and puts the mug down. "I didn't _intend_ for you to see it," he says. "I—the Force is a powerful thing. You can sense the feelings and emotions of others, and sometimes they affect you."

"The Force," says Rey. "And you think I've got the Force?"

"You do," he tells her. "You think you shot down three TIEs with a _blaster_ by coincidence?"

"I'm a lucky shot sometimes," she insists.

"You use it and you don't even realize you're using it sometimes," he tells her. "You sneaked up on us in Niima and we didn't sense a thing."

Rey scowls. "Or maybe you're just not as aware of your surroundings as you think you are."

"And you knew my name," he says pointedly.

Her face goes red again. "I knew your name because you _made_ me have that stupid dream!"

He shuts his eyes and hangs his head a little. "I," he grits out between his teeth, "did not _mean_ to let that affect your mind and I am _sorry_."

 _"Let_ it affect my mind. Right. So you _were_ in control of whatever it was—"

Ben fixes her with a glare. "Please stop talking about it." His voice is cold and low.

"No," she snarls. "Not until you tell me what the hell it was about. Because I don't—I don't know if anything I was feeling was _real_ , if it was coming from me or not, and I want to know."

They stare at each other, both refusing to concede an inch, until Ben, realizing he's met his match, lets his shoulders hunch forward. " _Fine_ ," he spits, crossing his arms. "Initially it was not you, no. It was me. At the very end of—it, _you_ did something and took over. Then it was over. That's all."

"What did I do?" she demands.

"You'll be able to remember if you meditate and get in touch with the Force," he tells her, half-smiling at the insulted expression on her face.

Rey scowls. "You're lying."

"I am not," he tells her. "Think about it. Go back and remember the dream."

She shuts her eyes and concentrates—rather hard to do with Ben staring at her—and slowly, her breathing relaxes, her mind goes open and soft. Memory trickles back, just like he'd said it would. The dream, their two bodies pressed close, and at the end—

Rey opens her eyes, cheeks gone scarlet. "I—I kissed you," she tells him, sounding strangled. "Didn't I?" Ben seems to withdraw against the table, and Rey advances, furious. "You used some Jedi trick to make me do it!"

"No," he says. "I didn't. I've—" He looks down again, at the floor. "I've never kissed anyone in my life. I wouldn't know the first thing about trying to imagine it."

"Oh," says Rey, disconcerted. "Well—well, don't you dare try it again."

"I could teach you to block it out," he offers, looking at her from under his dark hair. "Set a guard up."

"I don't need to learn anything from _you_ ," she says angrily, trying to banish the memory of the dream from her mind. _Big and solid and strong, soft mouth, arms tight—_ "Why would you even think things like that about me in the first place? You barely know me!"

"I'm a Jedi," he manages, face red again. "I'm sworn to a life of asceticism."

"Fat lot of good that did you," says Rey hotly, "fantasizing about my _backside_ —"

Ben's hand slams on the table, and she jumps, startled. "For your information," he seethes, "I probably would have been daydreaming about you even if you'd been a Hutt or a Crolute. I'm not—I'm not used to being in close contact like that, with anyone, and it didn't matter that you smell like a trash compactor or you're filthy because I guess I'm _just_ that repressed and things just _happen_ , so if you could _shut up_ about it—"

"I do _not_ smell like a trash compactor," snaps Rey, stung by the harshness of his words, "you—you oversized Kowakian _monkey-lizard_ —"

Ben's hand flashes out and snatches her by the wrist, dragging her close, but whatever he's about to spit out is interrupted by—

_Snow. Snow falling in a wood, blue light drowning the trees: Rey is clinging to a saber hilt—_

_Rain on a deserted plain of mud, it's dark, Ben is standing over her and reaching his hand out—_

_Back-to-back, they battle black-clad warriors, a spear of blue in Ben's fist and a singing blue and silver saber in Rey's—_

Rey rips her wrist away and stares at him, eyes wide in shock. "What—what was _that_ —?" Her voice shakes.

Ben stares right back. "You saw it, too," he murmurs. "Still don't believe in the Force?"

"I—" She staggers back, chest heaving. Impossible. She doesn't have _visions_. Had that been the future? The past? " _You_ did that to me—"

"I'm not doing anything," he insists, and reaches out. "Rey—"

"Don't touch me," she spits, turning and almost running for the door. She'll sleep alone on the floor if she has to: anything to stay as far away from Ben Solo as possible.

*

"Here's our stop," says Han, flicking a few switches. "You wanna wake the kids up?"

"Kids," says Luke, sighing. "We were never that young, were we?"

" _You_ were definitely that young," Han informs him, face creasing into a grin as they drop out of hyperspace. "I, on the other hand, no. I have never been that young." Chewbacca yips in agreement.

Luke snorts and waves him off, making his way back through the corridor and to the hold. FN-2187—or Finn, as they've taken to unanimously calling him—is passed out cold on the dejarik sofa, mouth slightly open. Rey, the little scavenger, is curled up tightly in the medical nook, blanket tucked around her body. She's not asleep: Luke can sense that she's fully aware of his presence, but her eyes are shut tight.

He crosses over to Finn first. "Wake up, kid," he says gently, and Finn jerks to full wakefulness in less than two seconds. "We're landing in a few."

"Oh, good," he says, and stretches.

Luke walks over to Rey's bunk and stands there for a moment. Her emotions are complicated: there's something in there about Ben and about herself and he doesn't have the time to sort through all the tangled threads of thought, but he should probably poke at Ben later. "You okay?" he asks instead.

Rey opens one eye and peers up at him. "You knew I wasn't asleep," she says, almost accusingly. Luke nods, and just waits. She sighs, sits up, and pulls the blanket close. "I'm just cold," she says, averting her eyes, and Luke frowns slightly. She's clearly unwilling to talk about whatever's really bothering her, and he doesn't have time to press.

"Well, you'll be warmer in a few minutes," he says. "Takodana's a very temperate forested planet. Lakes, rivers—"

"Lakes?" asks Rey, uncomprehending.

"Bodies of water," says Ben from behind them, and she jumps slightly, then scowls. "Large ones, but not as large as oceans." Her eyes meet his, and something passes between them Luke can't make out before Rey shoves out of the bunk and marches toward the corridor leading to the cockpit without another word.

"Huh," says Luke blandly, keeping an eye on Ben. "She seems a little prickly." Ben doesn't answer, but Luke senses some strange emotion from the young man he can't quite put his finger on—it's not quite _longing,_ it's too unsettled for that; but there's a nascent thread of something black and hot that Luke doesn't quite care to see exhibited in his nephew—or really _any_ of his students. "Ben," he says gently, "be mindful of your training. Attachment, possession; it's not the Jedi way."

Ben struggles with two warring responses to that: Luke can sense him. One: rage and fury and a scream of _I don't care!_ two: acceptance and allowing the moment to pass over. His fists clench into knots, and he exhales hard, then walks away abruptly, toward the cockpit.

Luke sits alone for a moment, lost in thought as they descend toward the green surface of the planet below.


	4. bring the world to that destructive fire

"I didn't know there was this much green in the whole galaxy," says Rey, staring out the cockpit in awe as they glide above treetops and over lush fields. "Or _water_."

Han gives her a sideways look, slightly touched. "We'll land just past this forest," he tells her and Finn, who's looking out with excitement. "I think I know just where Leia wants us to go."

Chewie, sitting in the copilot's seat, barks in agreement, and they soar over the forest. The verdant treetops fall away, and Rey gasps as a shining expanse of water stretches out before them, an ancient-looking castle of brown stone at one end. " _That's_ a lake! Is that—"

"Yes, that's a lake," says Finn, grinning at her. The delight she's radiating is practically palpable, and she bounces from one side of the cockpit to the other, craning her head to see out more clearly.

They land in a clearing on the shore, and Rey's the first one out the ramp, felted boots pounding on the metal and crunching through the leafy bracken. She stops short in amazement, staring up at the sun and the wind and the cool air, looking around at the trees and the lake. "This is—"

"Pretty nice, huh?" Luke steps out behind her. "I remember the first time I saw a lake. Thought it was a mirage." He chuckles to himself.

She turns. "You—you grew up on a desert planet, too, didn't you?"

"I did," he confirms. "Tattooine. Left at nineteen, never went back."

Doubt crosses her face and she turns back to the lake. "I'm nineteen," she says mournfully. "I can't _never_ go back. I have to wait—"

"Who are you waiting for?" Luke asks. "There's no shame in telling."

Rey chews her lip. "Just—my family. They left me there a long time ago, you know. But they're coming back, so I have to be there when they do."

"Mmm," says Luke non-commitally.

Han, Ben, Finn, and Chewbacca come down the ramp next, followed by BB-8,who looks around, beeping to itself. "Let's hide the sabers for now," Han says gruffly. "Droid stays on the ship. We don't want a spy alerting anyone. And if you want to change into something a little less, uh, Jedi-looking—"

"It's fine," says Luke dismissively. "Ben's new outfit looks nice, though."

Ben scrunches his nose up. He's changed into a clean, long-sleeved shirt of his father's and a jacket, a blaster at his side in a holster and another, smaller one in his right hand. His saber's clutched in his left. "Here," he says, and tosses his saber to Luke, who tucks it into his pack. He starts walking over to Rey, and she has to fight to stay where she is.

"You'll probably want this," he says brusquely, and hands her the blaster.

"I can handle myself," she says, prickling.

Ben sighs. "I know you can. That's why you're getting a blaster. Take it." She reaches forward and picks it out of his palm, testing the weight. "You know how to use one of these?" asks Ben.

"Pull the trigger," she tells him. "I mean, you aim first, I assume, but—"

"All right, let's go," Han interrupts, and they turn toward him, hurrying across the ground as they leave and start making for the path leading to the castle of stone. "Here's the plan. We go in together, we act natural. I find Maz, we all have a nice conversation, maybe a few drinks, I do the talking, and we figure out where to go from here."

They pass under the arch and into a massive courtyard, flags of every color waving in the breeze overhead, strung from ropes crossing the yard like clotheslines. "And don't stare," adds Luke, as they mount the steps and come face-to-face with the doors.

"At what?" Finn asks.

"Any of it," says Han, and pushes the doors wide.

The hall inside is crowded with alien beings of all species: drinking, eating, playing musical instruments, sitting around tables, lounging on cushions. Rey follows close behind Luke, trying to ignore Ben's presence behind her, and tries to keep her head down, but can't help but sneak looks around her. It's like nothing she's ever seen before.

"HAN SOLO!" bellows out a voice from the back. The place goes dead silent, and Rey looks around wildly for the speaker, then finds her: a tiny alien with skin like burnt umber and wearing a pair of adjustable goggles that make her miniscule eyes seem huge.

"Hey, Maz!" Han calls over, by way of greeting. Chewbacca lets out a happy-sounding string of yaps, and Maz Kanata hurries over and embraces the enormous Wookie.

"Oh, so good to see you," she says, delightedly looking up into his furry face.

"Nice to see you too, Maz," say Han, pretending to be disgruntled.

"Hmm," she says, looking over at him. She takes in Luke, and Finn: Rey's wide eyes, and Ben, looming anxiously behind them all."I assume you all need something. Desperately. Well, let's get to it."

*

Rey's never seen this much luxury in her life, that much is clear. Ben hides his amusement as she gapes at the stone walls on the way up to their rooms: as she trails a hand along the rail of the stair, as she stops short in shock at the sight of a steam room and sauna, towels on the walls, people milling about inside in various stages of undress among the drifting clouds of steam.

"Come on," says Ben. He knows the rules: no fighting and be respectful—he's been here once before, a long time ago. "We'll get cleaned up and join Dad and Luke down in the main room." He's slightly bitter at being delegated to the role of babysitting the defected trooper and the scavenger, both of whom can't be over twenty and both of whom are goggling at the room in mingled shock and excitement. "Come on, Finn, as if you've never seen a bath house before."

The young man shakes his head. "No. We only had sonic freshers. Water's a waste." It's hot inside, and they're all three already sweating, so Ben sighs and strips his jacket off.

"Just do what I do. Strip down to your basics, or whatever you're comfortable in, and grab a towel. Then follow me. Don't be weird and don't stare."

Rey, who's gone as red as a beetroot, makes them both turn their backs before she strips off her rags and wraps herself in a towel. The men set their clothes neatly on the provided shelf and tuck towels around their waists. Finn hurries off to find a good place, and Ben turns to Rey, who's got her towel rucked up under her arms and is pulling on the hem, just at mid-thigh length, in a desperate attempt to cover more skin. "Quit doing that," he tells her, taking a perverse pleasure in how uncomfortable she looks. _Not so perfect now, are you?_ "You'll stretch the thing out. Let go of the bottom."

She glares up at him, but lets her grip loosen, and clutches her arms tight to her chest instead. Her cheeks are still crimson.  "Stop _looking_ at me," she hisses.

"Stop acting like you're going to be thrown out a window, then, or _everyone's_ going to start staring," Ben says acidly, and that gets her to at least drop her arms, even though she keeps them pressed flat to her body. Her eyes flicker up his bare torso, and she quickly looks away, her nose and mouth scrunching up in a little moue of disgust.

Well, _fine_. Ben's stung. He's not an oiled-up, chiseled fashion model off a Chandrilian holoboard, sure, but he didn't think his body warranted that kind of reaction. He turns around and stomps off without another word, sensing her confusion. "Don't leave me back here!" she whispers, hurrying after him in a panic.

He ignores her and finds Finn, who's already leaning back against the hot stone wall, sweating. "Hey," he says, dark eyes opening slightly. His gaze flickers over to Rey, and even though the only thing Ben can sense is faint curiosity and a general amiable feeling towards her, it does nothing to set him off any less.

"Hey," he says, forcing himself to be polite, and sits down on the other bench, set at a right angle into the nook. From here he can spot the exits, and there's no way anyone can sneak up on them from where they're positioned. He realizes the trooper must have chosen this spot for the same reason. _Tactically-minded_ , he thinks with some approval. _Good._

Rey deliberates for a moment and plops down between him and Finn, on the juncture of the benches. She sighs and leans back, clearly feeling a little more secure. "What do we do now?" she asks.

"We sweat," Ben tells her. "They've got soap, too, and hot water to rinse with."

She lets her head drop forward, and he has to fight to keep himself from staring at the fine curve of the back of her neck. "There was one of these at Niima Outpost," she tells them. "Nobody could use it—not us scavengers, I mean. Just the constable, and Plutt's cronies."

"How did you get clean, then?" asks Finn.

"Pan-baths, if you had the water. Sand baths, mostly." Rey shrugs awkwardly, and Ben can sense her thoughts: her own life has been thrown into stark perspective and found wanting in the face of all this excess. Water freely available, food, clean towels: it's almost too much.

He reaches out with a suggestion across the Force: _just relax._ She stiffens and shoots him a sideways look, but he feels her tension begin to deflate slightly. Finn makes a few comments about how hot it is, and Ben nods genially, and soon they all start to slowly melt in the heat, sweating from every pore, blinking sleepily in the dim lighting.

People move past the drifts of steam, like something out of a dream. Ben lets his thoughts wander, inhaling slowly, sinking into a half-meditative state. The Force is in every drop of sweat, every breath, even the rough texture of the towel draped around his waist. He loses track of time.

Finn says something he can't make out, but stands up and heads for the door. Ben rolls his head from side to side on the wall, and vaguely understands that the heat's gotten to be a bit much for the kid, and he's searching for cold water and a place to cool off. Which leaves him alone with Rey.

She's drenched in sweat and glistening like the surface of the lake outside. She lies down, her cheek pressed to the stone near where Finn had been sitting, and sighs deeply, half-asleep already. She's used to heat, but not to the steam. Her towel has inched up to just below the curve of her lean backside, and Ben swallows, fighting the urge to yank it down again. Anything for an excuse to touch her…

This is _not_ appropriate behavior for a Jedi, and he knows that full well. He shouldn't be having these feelings, or thoughts, or ideas, but he _is_ , and there's nothing he can do about it. _Rey,_ he says as non-intrusively as he can, _don't fall asleep._

"Mmm," she grouses, and opens one eye. "Shove off. I was having a nap."

"I'm sure you were," he says. "We've got about five more minutes before we should rinse off and get dressed."

"Ugh," Rey groans, and drags herself up. Pieces of dark hair stick to her temples and forehead, and he fights the urge to brush them off. "Fine." She blows air out of her lower lip, and a loose tendril flies away from her nose. "Why were you all prickly at me earlier?"

He should have just let her sleep. "You gave me a dirty look when I told you to stop acting like someone was going to throw you out a window."

"I did not!" she insists, blinking sweat out of her eyes.

"Did too."

"Did _not_."

"Then what was _this_?" he demands, and curls his mouth down in a parody of her expression. "Huh?"

"That was—" Rey looks away from him. "That was me being _mad_ at myself, that's what."

"At yourself," he repeats, blankly.

"Yeah. 'Cause I—you—" She shuts her mouth tight and shakes her head. "Nothing. I just keep remembering things I don't want to think about because I can't—I've got priorities and I'm sure you do too. And you're a Jedi. And it's not exactly easy to remember that when you've—when—" she indicates his bare chest, looking embarrassed—"when _that's_ right here, you know."

"Oh," he says, feeling as if he's been caught off guard. "Sorry."

"You can't—can you—" She curls her mouth again in a frustrated expression. "Is it possible to make someone attracted to you with the Force?"

"Um," says Ben, taken aback. "Not…over long periods of time. You could influence someone to find you attractive, very short-term, with the Force, but if you wanted to do something seriously long-term, it's… well, in theory it would be very time-intensive, and you'd have to use the Force constantly to make sure the other person didn't…come to, so to speak."

"In theory," she echoes. "So you can't… do that."

"What? No." Ben stares at her. "Wait. Is _that_ what you think is going on here?"

"I don't know!" she says fiercely, her hands curled around the edge of the stone bench. "I've never had thoughts like this about anyone in my life, and it only started happening when you made me have that stupid dream."

"I—" Ben swallows. "I haven't…had thoughts like that until now, either," he tells her.

"You said it wouldn't have mattered if I was a Hutt—"

"I was being—an ass," he says stiffly. Sweat is trickling down his neck. "That wasn't true. Well, some of it was true. Not all of it."

"You said you'd never kissed anyone before," Rey informs him, as if he needed to be reminded of that. "How old are you, anyway?"

"Twenty-nine," he says. "How old are you?"

"I—nineteen," she tells him, and at the expression on his face, amends it to, " _almost_ twenty."

"Force," Ben mutters, and leans back against the wall.

"I mean," she offers tentatively, "now you _have_ kissed someone, right?"

"Dreams don't count," he tells her.

"Why not?"

"Because they're not real," Ben says hotly.

"But I was there," she insists. "It _was_ real if both of us saw it—"

"It's _not_ —" he begins, and is stopped by her hand, pressed to his bare arm. They both tense, waiting for another vision, but nothing happens, and as the anticipation passes over them, Ben becomes hyperaware of the texture of her palms, flat on his bicep. Callouses, slender little fingers, nails bitten to the quick—

"Do you _actually_ want to kiss me?" she prods. Ben can't breathe. His heart is in his throat, and his free hand is clutching the towel around his waist into a knot. _Yes_ , he wants to shout, _yes_ , _please_ —

"No. I mean, I can't. It's forbidden," he says instead, his own voice sounding very distant.

"Oh," says Rey, in a very small voice, and takes her hand away. He wants to rage at the loss, to drag her into his arms and clutch her close; he realizes that they're both naked beneath their towels, and a heady surge of desire floods him so strongly that even Rey senses it, looking at him quickly with large eyes. _I could touch you now. I could take you. I could pull you close and we could run away and nobody would ever—_

That's absurd. He shuts his eyes and wrests control back to his mind and away from his thudding heart. When he opens them again, Rey is clutching her towel to her chest and not making eye contact at all, her cheeks red and her breath coming in short little huffs. "I'm sorry," he tells her. "I don't—I struggle with controlling my emotions."

"I'm," says Rey, edging off the bench, "just, erm, going to go rinse off and find my clothes."

"You'll get lost," he says wearily. "I'll show you where it is."

*

They leave together, Rey in Ben's wake, and find the showers, which are open-walled and already populated sparsely with several aliens, all nude and scraping sweat off themselves. Finn must have already left: Ben can sense traces of his signature in the air, but he isn't here.

Rey's cheeks go redder, but she nods at Ben and takes her towel off, as if daring him to do a thing about it. He can't, of course: can't do anything but stare, so he does just that. She bends to pick up soap, looking at it like she has no idea what it is, and all Ben can see are the delicate knobs of her spine showing through her skin. She's half-starved and lean: freckled and dirty and tough with hardly an ounce of spare fat on her frame. He'd expected to be titillated at finally seeing her naked, but all he feels is pity, shot through with admiration for her resilience, which can't be denied now that he's seen what her life has done to her body.

Ben drops his own towel and heads for the free shower head, intending to show her how to turn it on, but a small squeak from behind him makes him turn. She's looking very intently at his face, and she's gone slightly pale. "You all right?" he asks.

"Yes. Fine." She's unblinking, staring at his face as if it's her one tether to sanity.

"Right." He turns and indicates the controls. "Hot, cold, on, off. Twist it to the side for on and off. Got it?"

"Got it," she says, and hurries past him, avoiding contact, to turn on the shower. After a moment of fumbling, cool water streams out, and Rey hops into the spray with a little delighted gasp.

Ben hides a smile and steps to the next shower head, lathering his hands up with some of the woodsy-smelling stuff in one of the bottles nearby and scrubbing through his hair. "Shampoo," he explains, at her confused expression. "You wash your hair with it. Soap's for the rest of you." He hands her a washcloth. "Scrub away."

Rey looks baffled at the idea of having two whole separate categories of soap to wash with, but gets the idea. She takes down her three straggling knots of hair and carefully copies his movements, watching out of the corner of her eye. Ben scrubs his hair, she scrubs hers. He washes his shoulders and arms and underarms, Rey does the same. They watch each other wash, while simultaneously pretending they're not watching each other wash, and rinse clean, drying off with thin towels and combing out their damp hair with their fingers.

After they've tracked their clothes back down and gotten dressed, they start to make the descent toward the main hall. It's back down a circular stair, steps slippery with age, and Rey holds onto the wall as she goes. "I feel like my skin's too soft," she complains. "Like it's all been scrubbed off me, or—" She stops suddenly as they reach the landing on the main level, and looks down the stairs that continue into the basement area.

"Rey?" asks Ben, brows furrowing.

"Didn't you hear that?" she asks, turning toward him, eyes wide in horror. "There—there it is again!"

"What?"

"There's a _child_ —" She turns, as if compelled, and heads down the stairs, disappearing into the gloom before Ben can even move to stop her.

*

She can hear it clear as day: the plaintive, desperate cry of a little girl in anguish, crying somewhere down here in the dark. Rey keeps walking, looking on every side to see where the child is. It seems to be coming from the very end of the hall, so she heads there, stepping carefully.

A door slides open without being prompted. She steps through, and sees she's in some sort of old storeroom: there are boxes on every side, crates, old treasures, but she barely sees any of them. There's an ancient wooden chest on the floor directly in the center of the room, and her heartbeat fills her ears.

Rey takes a step, then another. Something in the chest is calling to her. Something wants to be seen.

She lifts the lid with steady hands, and sees a gleaming silver hilt.

 _The saber from the vision_ , she realizes, and reaches for it without a second thought. Her fingers close on the cold metal, and the buzzing, spitting sound of a saber igniting fills her ears, followed by a deeply unsettling, mechanical sound: someone breathing.

Rey rips her hand away with a cry, startled, and slams the lid shut, but she is no longer in the cellar room: she's in a cold, blue-lit hallway, and the little girl is crying out again: _no! no!_ Rey looks around wildly, and the hallway begins to collapse. She rolls out of it and lands on hard-packed earth, the light of the moon shining down.

There's a woman in a robe and hood, face invisible, hurrying to board a transport. Rey hears a wail, and turns over on her back—it's raining, suddenly, and six black-clad warriors surround her, wielding weapons she's never dreamed of. One raises his weapon above his head and steps forward, about to strike her down. She barely has time to cry out in terror before a gleaming cobalt blade pierces through the back of the man and out his front, and the body falls aside, revealing a figure cloaked in brown that she does not know. The figure begins to approach her, and from behind her, she hears another desperate scream. " _No!_ "

Rey whirls about in horror, and she is no longer standing on a rain-soaked plain: she's back on Jakku, the wind hot on her skin, and a girl is struggling in the meaty grip of Unkar Plutt, looking up at the sky beseechingly. _"Come back!_ " she wails, and Rey sees the triple knots down the back of her head: her own hairstyle—

Her own—

The little girl is _her,_ it's been her _own voice_ she's been hearing all along—

Rey turns around, horrified, and sees a transport flying off into the pale blue sky. As she stares in incomprehension, the sky blackens and the sun turns red, and she realizes she's standing in the snowy forest, the one she'd seen before. " _Rey?"_ inquires a gentle voice she does not know, and she turns, running in terror, anything to get out of this hell of a vision.

From behind a tree, a figure cloaked in dark colors emerges with startling speed, a sparking saber in one hand. " _I'm coming back for you, sweetheart,"_ says another voice, echoing as if it's down a well. " _I promise._ " Rey brings herself up short and cringes away, terrified—

Then, she falls onto the cool stone floor of the basement, forest, snow, and figure gone as if they were never there. Her heat is pounding wildly, and she turns on her side, hearing a rustle. Maz Kanata is standing there, looking at her as if she's the last person she'd ever expect to see.

"What was that?" gasps Rey, tears in her eyes. It had been so _real_ —her hands are still shaking. "I shouldn't—have gone in there." She gets to her feet quickly, feeling guilty.

"Young Solo said you were down here." Maz shakes her head as she hurries to Rey's side. "That lightsaber was Luke Skywalker's," she says softly. "And his father's before him, and now it calls to _you_."

Rey shakes her head, overwhelmed. "No, I—I have to go back—"

"Mmm, yes. Luke and Han told me." Maz reaches out and places her four-fingered hand into Rey's and Rey holds it, kneeling on the floor, clinging to her like a rock in a storm.  "My dear child, I see your eyes. You already know the truth. Whoever you're waiting for on Jakku—they're never coming back."

Rey's eyes spill over with tears. _No_ , she wants to deny, _no, they're coming back, they are!_

"But there's someone who still could." The alien's tiny eyes are kind, not accusing, and Rey sniffs a little.

"Leia?" she ventures.

"The belonging you seek is not behind you. It is ahead. I am no Jedi, but I know the Force, child. It moves through and surrounds every living thing." Maz presses her hands tighter to Rey's, her face serene. "Close your eyes. Feel it. The light has always been there. It will guide you. The saber—take it."

Rey blinks. Take it? Take the saber? Fear curls around her gut again: she can't stand another vision, she doesn't want this. "Don't make me touch that thing again," she blurts out. "Please. I don't want—"

Her words are interrupted by a deep rumble, and Maz looks up. "Hush, child," she says urgently, one finger raised. "Something is happening."

*

Captain Poe Dameron stands, shackled hand and foot, on the bridge of the _Finalizer_ , flanked by two black-garbed guards wielding electropikes. Beyond the pane of transparisteel, Hosnian Prime glimmers in the distance like a diamond. Behind him stands General Armitage Hux in a black greatcoat, hands clasped behind his back.

"Such a lovely planet," says Hux, as if to himself. "Don't you agree?"

Dameron clenches his jaw and waits, silent. He doesn't know how long it's been since the man entered his cell and began to interrogate him personally, but he's only said two things the whole time: _Captain Poe Dameron_ and _identification number Y4-CRXP4D._ He's still considering crafting a third thing to say, but it'll be a delicate matter.

One of the guards abruptly jabs him in the ribs with his electropike, and Poe doubles over, gasping in pain before the other guard grabs him by the hair and jerks him upright. "I _said_ ," Hux says, as conversationally as if they'd met at a gala, "don't you agree, Dameron?"

"Captain Poe Dameron," Poe forces out between swollen lips. "Identification number Y4-CRXP4D." He's so thirsty. He hasn't had anything to drink since Hux appeared, and his vision swims with flecks of light.

Hux sighs and turns toward the officers at their stations. "Give orders to fire the weapon. Wipe the whole system out." He says it with such a blasé attitude that it takes a moment for Poe to realize what he's said, and when he does, he jerks back around, ignoring the guards, and fixes Hux with a horrified stare.

"No," he says, breaking his self-imposed silence. "You can't. They have no defenses—that's _billions_ of lives—"

"Oh, I'm aware," says Hux, and lifts a hand as the operators thumb in commands. One young woman looks up.

"Ready, sir," she says crisply. "We've also received a report that Han Solo's ship has been sighted on Takodana. Shall we engage?"

"Yes, engage. Wherever Solo is, that droid can't be far behind. Prepare my shuttle."

Poe lunges for Hux. He's stopped by a guard's knee to his stomach, and collapses to the floor in agony as Hux shakes his head. "My dear Captain," he says coolly, crouching to bring his face level with Poe's, "I don't think you're aware of what's at stake. You refuse to give me any information on Organa, you refuse to even be _civil_. This is an error that must be corrected."

"You're bluffing," Poe says desperately, between dragging breaths. "You don't have a weapon that can destroy a whole system."

Hux doesn't even dignify that with a response. He stands. "Fire at will," he says to the officers, and they speak quietly into their comms. Poe is dragged back to his feet and forced to face the viewport.

 _It's a lie,_ he tells himself angrily. _It has to be. They would never destroy a whole system. Not even the First Order would be that bold._ His thought all dissipate a moment later, when a streak of crimson flame blooms out to the right, and stretches out like an accusing finger directly toward the distant system. Poe's mind goes numb at the sheer magnitude of it. _Maybe it won't hit,_ he thinks desperately. _Maybe it's a trick; it will veer off at the last second, an error in the targeting system—_

It does not veer an inch. There is no error. Poe Dameron watches in sick horror as the Hosnian system, moons and planets and all, is torn apart in the blink of an eye by scarlet fire, and there is not a thing he can do to stop it.

*

On Takodana, every being in the main room races outside at the distant rumbling sound, peering up at a faint streak of red far above in the blue sky. There are cries of horror, shock, anger: all of them are experienced pilots, all know where Hosnian Prime lies.

"Holy R'iia," whispers Rey in horror.

"Back inside," says Maz sharply. "Now."

"What—but the Order—" Ben looks taken aback as they all rush back in, down the corridor and back into the storeroom.

"I've kept this for a very long time," says Maz, and opens the chest, taking out the ancient saber. "Kept it locked up."

"Where did you get _that_?" asks Luke, stunned.

"A story for another time," Maz tells him with a wink, and turns to Rey. "Take it. Go and find this pilot, the one they have taken."

Rey lets her hand curl around it without thinking, and sees no visions, no dark figure: it's only her and the cold, smooth metal in her palm. Overhead, the ceiling rumbles, dust sifting down. "What—" she begins, but Maz looks up, fury written all over her little face.

"Oh, those _beasts_ ," she spits. "They're here."


	5. they all go into the dark.

Ben Solo, flanked by his uncle, his father, the trooper, and the girl, emerges into a world of fire, crumbling stone, and smoke. Troopers are already on the ground, shooting. Han and Chewie take cover behind a chunk of stone as Ben ignites his saber with Luke and they stand together, summer-green and cobalt blue blades humming as they deflect shots.

 _Only the Force_ , thinks Ben, beginning to fall back into his old familiar mantra. _There is only the Force, and nothing else._ He hasn't been in a real battle since Arkanis, and his blood sings with the thrill of combat. Ben knows he's not supposed to revel in battle, but he's always enjoyed it, to Luke's discomfort, and he deflects bolt after bolt into the white armor of the stormtroopers firing at them.

A cry distracts him from his concentration, and he turns to see Rey, firing wildly at the troopers advancing on her, and he realizes she's forgotten the lightsaber at her belt: does she even know how to use it? He'd been stung at first that Maz hadn't handed it over to him or Luke (after all, it's a family heirloom) but now he's just baffled. "Hey!" he bellows, and Rey shoots him a wild look, ducking for cover behind a fallen wall as another explosion goes off. TIEs are screaming overhead, and she can probably barely hear him. " _Hey!_ "

"Ben!" shouts Luke, deflecting two shots at once. "You need to be _mindful_ —"

"She's going to get herself _killed_!" he yells at his uncle, and turns back, jumping over rubble and smoking earth. In the back of his mind, he realizes with some horror that he's just defied his master, but it doesn't matter because Rey is still holding her ground, half-exposed to fire from the right. She's clearly never been in a firefight before, as skilled as she is with close-quarter combat, and he slides in behind her and grabs her by the belt, dragging her unceremoniously to full cover as they both fall over and face-plant into the dirt.

Rey sits up, mud smeared up her face and eyes blazing. "What are you _doing,_ you laser-brained—"

"Saber," he says, spitting out dirt. "Ignite it. Turn it on and _use_ it."

She holsters her blaster and fumbles with the saber, turning it on and gaping at the brilliant sky-blue blade. "How—"

"Staff. Same principle. You can deflect with the blade. Don't cut your own foot off. Got it?" It's a very rudimentary crash course, but she nods and grips the blade, breathing evenly, before jumping back out and deflecting two shots, almost exactly as he would have done it himself.

Strange, but there will be time to mull that over later. _Good girl_ , he thinks approvingly, and catches a wave of consternation from her as she dodges another blaster bolt. Finn is firing off shots with his own blaster, and catches up to Ben as Luke steps back to cover Han and Chewie.

"How'd they find us?" Ben shouts over the din. Finn's dark face is gleaming with sweat as he takes aim and fires again.

"Don't know! The droid stayed on board the ship, right? Nobody could have seen…" Both pairs of dark eyes meet, and Ben feels like he's just been shocked. If the BB unit had managed to get off board, and someone had taken it…

"Falcon," he says immediately. "With me, hurry!"

*

Rey has never felt this alive in her life. Somehow her body just _knows_ what do to, once she's allowed herself to try, and she's swinging a real lightsaber, like a Jedi, and it doesn't matter that there are more troopers or that she could be killed any second. She's exhilarated and—

"Rey!" shouts a voice, and Luke drags her back by the arm.

"Hey!" she protests, deactivating the saber. "What—" She turns to see them, surrounded from behind, and feels like a grade-A idiot. "Oh."

"We have you surrounded," says a trooper, aiming at Han and Chewie. "Targets in custody. Drop your weapons."

Rey sullenly lets go of the saber, yanked out of her palm by a trooper, and Chewie and Han drop their weapons. Luke sets his down carefully. All of them put their hands up in surrender. Rey's heart sinks as she follows suit: they can't possibly be expected to give up _now_ , can they? There's an open transport waiting, and they march toward it.

A distant roar of engines fills the air, and Han stops in his tracks and turns, Luke doing the same. Rey turns in confusion, and sees across the lake a line of mist, approaching—no, it's not mist—

Scarlet bolts of energy chop the dirt into slices, flung into the air like so much sand. Overhead, a squadron of X-wings peels off, turns, and fires down on the transports.

The Resistance has come at last.

"We have incoming at two-eight point six!" screams the trooper into his comlink. "Move! Dispatch! Move! Scramble all squads! Repeat, scramble all squads! Anti-air cover en route to our position!"

The troopers holding them captive scatter, bodies flung like dolls. Han and Chewbacca snatch up their weapons and start firing again as Rey whoops with joy and yanks her saber out of the hand of a fallen trooper. They continue fighting back, all together, as the Order scatters like leaves blown before a storm.

*

Ben and Finn, out of breath and panting, reach the Falcon. It's exactly where they left it, pristine and untouched in the leaves, and BB-8 rolls out inquisitively, looking at them with what Ben could swear is concern. He looks up and sees X-wings peeling out overhead, streaking toward the ruins of the castle.

"Get out of here," gasps Finn, waving his hand. "The Order's found us—you gotta get to the Resistance—"

"Get into the woods _now_ ," Ben amends. The photoreceptor bounces from face to face and the droid burbles with agitation. "Stay hidden and out of sight. Someone will come for you when this is all over."

BB-8 chirps and starts to roll away as quickly as it can, disappearing into the woods. Finn sighs in deep relief and offers Ben a sheepish grin. "I guess I was wrong. There was no—"

Pain shoots up Ben's left arm and he drops his saber, collapsing to the leafy ground and twitching in agony. Something's...  _bitten_ him, or—

Finn, uncomprehending as he stares down, drops suddenly like a sack of wet duracrete, his limbs spasming. From the edge of the forest, three black-armored troopers with faces masked by black helmets approach, flanked by a man with a sneering face and gingery hair that Ben recognizes immediately from the HoloNet: it's Hux.

One of the guards is dragging BB-8 in an electrified net, and the little droid is squealing, shaking, wailing in agitation as it's pulled across the ground.

"FN-2187," says General Armitage Hux coldly. "So good to have found you again. Captain Phasma will be pleased."

Ben drags himself up to his knees. His limbs feel like jelly, the Force an unattainable memory. "You harm Finn," he spits, "and you'll answer to me."

" _Finn_ ," Hux says derisively. "I assume that's some sort of pet name you've come up with?" He turns to the trooper holding BB-8. "Get the droid on board and take these two along. Disarm them. Lock the Jedi down in the triple-mag cuffs. I don't want any mishaps."

"Yes, sir," says the guard, and the other two advance on Finn and Ben. Ben tries his hardest to struggle, but his body, which had been an advantage so many times, has become nothing but a heavy, limp heap of inert flesh and bone that twitches and flails and shakes without his input. The guard drags him to his knees and begins to lock his wrists together behind his back.

"Not fun, is it?" says Hux, watching avidly. "Hmm. Modified Kamino saberdart, with a little something I developed personally on the barbs." He walks over and crouches like a large cat intent on its prey, plucking the tiny thing out of the meat of Ben's left thigh and holding it up so Ben can see. "You'll be helpless for another hour or so. Don't try to move, it'll make your nervous system a little…twitchy." He smiles, and Ben stares into the pale green eyes: this is a madman. Chaos made flesh. "Well, get them on board. We have what we need. Let's go."

*

Rey, still fighting side by side with Han, catches a glimpse of black figures moving on the far side of the clearing, in the forest. A black-winged shuttle is squatting on the ground, and she can make out a glimpse of red hair, dark skin, something orange, a blur of black and white being dragged by a black-armored trooper—

"Ben!" she screams, forgetting her position, and she starts running frantically, even though she knows it's hopeless, racing as fast as she can toward the distant transport shuttle. "Finn! _Finn! Ben! No! Ben!!"_

The figures are pulled aboard and the shuttle lifts off. She's hopelessly far away, and can only watch as the black, sleek craft disappears into the stratosphere. With nowhere else to go, she races back to Han and Luke. "They took them," she gasps, tears streaming down her face. "BB-8 and Ben and Finn: they took them _all_ —"

"I know," says Luke, distantly. He steps aside and sits down on the ground, looking stricken as a Resistance transport lands and discharges various personnel, who rush across the ground, secure the area, and check Rey for injuries. She waves them off, feeling as if she's in a nightmare.

"Ah! Master Luke!" exclaims a clipped, mechanical voice, and a golden protocol droid walks up stiffly. "So very good to see you unharmed."

"Thanks, Threepio," says Luke, still looking as if his mind is a million miles away.

A woman in a smart military uniform approaches them, her bulbous eyes and large nose giving her the look of a startled sand-rat. "Master Skywalker," she says.

"Commander D'Acy," he replies. "I regret to inform you both my apprentice and the clue to my sister's whereabouts have been taken, along with a defected stormtrooper."

She seems to deflate, but keeps her composure. "I am very sorry to hear that," she says. "We need to evacuate to D'Qar immediately, and we will make arrangements to retrieve the data from the Order—and your nephew, of course," she adds, a little softer.

"Good. This is—well, a friend. Rey, meet Commander Larma D'Acy."

"Nice to meet you. Connix will debrief you—Connix!" D'Acy looks around and waves over Connix, a girl about Rey's age with blond hair done in two knots on either side of her head. "Will you please accompany Rey here onto the transport?"

"There's no need," says Han gruffly, stepping forward. "We have the Falcon. I'll—" he exchanges a look with Luke, and sets his chin slightly. "I'll take Luke and Rey here, and we'll follow you out to D'Qar."

"Changed your mind, huh?" Luke asks lightly as Connix and D'Acy walk away.

"Well, now my _son's_ out there, so yeah, I have," says Han, eyes like steel as he checks his blaster at his side. "Besides, Leia will kill me herself if she comes back and Ben's—" He swallows, unable to finish his sentence, and jerks a thumb over his shoulder. "Get on board and buckle in. Liftoff's in five."

*

Ben Solo jerks awake.

He's strapped into an interrogation rig, and there's a cold metal band pinning his forehead down to the headrest. It's dark in the room he's been stowed in, and he has no idea how much time has passed since Takodana. The room is empty. His neck is aching, and his limbs are trembling like leaves in wind.

 _Rey_. _Uncle Luke. Dad._ Did they get captured, too? He struggles in vain for a moment, but when he's unable to grasp the Force to pry off his restraints, he relaxes and tries to think.

The Order has the droid, but can't read or open the message without— _him_ , he remembers, feeling sick. _I'm an idiot._ Impulsive, always too impulsive: he can almost hear Luke chiding him. _Too aggressive, too much emotion and not quite enough logic to balance it._ That's what he's always needed: balance, and a good amount of it, and Force knows he's tried, but it's so _frustrating_.

"Finn," he says, and looks around. He's alone, and he feels a surge of sympathy for the trooper, who's probably being reconditioned right now in whatever horrible place they do that in here. Wherever _here_ is, anyway—he's unable to figure that out. Ben listens intently for the telltale hum of distant engines, but only silence meets his ears.

So. Not on a ship, or if he's on a ship, it's huge. Alone, and trapped, and without his lightsaber, and suffering from some kind of sadistic First Order substance that's making his body as weak and trembling as an old man's, random muscles tightening and slackening under no command of his own.

"Bad odds," he says to himself, trying to not bite off his own tongue. "You've had worse, though. Maybe." Actually, he can't remember ever having had worse odds.

The door hisses open, and Hux strides through. "I see you've somewhat recovered," he says smoothly.

"Where am I?" Ben manages to spit out.

Hux looks amused. "I'm the one doing the questioning here."

"Finn," Ben pushes. "Where's—"

He's interrupted by a swing and a fist to his gut, and his air leaves his body in a sick wheeze. His body tries to double instinctively, but he can't move in the rig, and he desperately sucks air back in as he raises his eyes to Hux again. The general sounds bored. "I _said_ , I'm doing the questioning."

Ben remains silent. There's drool trickling down his chin, and he's unable to get enough control over his body to wipe it away. _It's a humiliation tactic_ , he tells himself, but that doesn’t make it any less embarrassing.

"Name," says Hux.

"Kylo," says Ben, when he's able to.

"Kylo. Affiliation with the Resistance."

"I'm—" Ben feigns more pain and tremors to try to think clearly. He has to step carefully here. Truth with a smidge of lies is better than full lies: they won't be able to tell the difference. "I'm a Jedi learner from Skywalker's academy. I was assigned to accompany him on a mission."

"A mission. What mission?" Hux's green eyes gleam in the dim light like a cat's.

"I don't know," says Ben. "We were supposed to find—a pilot. He'd gone missing."

"And along the way you just happened to come into contact with the pilot's droid," says Hux. "A BB unit, orange and white. You sent the droid away during the attack on Takodana, just before we took it and you. So. Why is the droid important, Kylo?"

"I don't know," Ben lies again. "I was told it was vital by my master—that I had to keep it safe." His instincts are telling him to stall, stall as long as he can, prolong his importance to these people until he can escape.

Hux stares at him, unblinking. "You're lying," he says, almost conversationally, and only Ben's wracked nervous system keeps him from stiffening in shock. He's not Force-sensitive: how can he tell? "You know why the droid is important, don't you?"

"No," Ben insists. "Do you know?"

Hux punches him again with a black-gloved fist, this time in the face. Ben's lip splits, and he groans as blood splatters his chin. "I _said_ ," Hux tells him again, barely, restrained fury under his words, " _I'm_ doing the questioning."

So he doesn't know. He was bluffing. Worth a split lip to find out. Now he can grovel. "I'm sorry, sir," Ben manages. "S-sorry."

Hux's expression changes marginally. "That's better," he tells him, flexing his hand. "We'll disassemble the droid down to bolts if we have to."

Ben blinks. Disassemble the droid. Disassemble BB-8? _If they do that,_ whispers his logical brain, _then they will never be able to find the message from Mom._ Without the droid to decrypt the message, they'll never be able to play it, and they'll never know that the Resistance has found their weak spot. They'll defeat themselves.

On the other hand, there's Rey, and she's going to kill him with her bare hands if he lets that droid be deactivated and taken apart. _I'm all that droid has_ , her voice echoes. And the droid has an owner: Poe Dameron, who Ben is fairly sure he's met before and who is also not going to be happy if his droid is junked for parts.

In the end, he's saved having to make the decision. His jaw tightens uncontrollably and he shivers, unable to speak at all, as Hux leaves the cell without another glance back.

*

BB-8 swivels its photoreceptor up and catalogues the facial features of the male human it's discovered is designated _General Hux_ , entering the parameters of the space it has been confined to. It isn't designed to assess symmetry or beauty, but notes the peculiar shade of orange on the man's head, and draws a similarity between its own paint job and the man's hair. An interesting coincidence: BB-8 likes coincidences, insofar as a droid can like anything. It's filed away for later, as most of its observations are—a quirk of the droid that Poe programmed it to have. The electronic statocharges that have rippled through its frame and wiring have left it unable to move much, or use its multiple tool-arms to defend itself, which is a shame: BB-8 calculates that its welding torch would have set fire very quickly to General Hux's gabarwool greatcoat.

The man crouches. "Droid," he says. "You have one last chance to give us whatever you've got that the Resistance was so keen on hiding. Refuse, and you'll be scrapped. I assume you know what that means."

BB-8 hoots nervously. _Scrapped._ Yes _,_ it knows what that means. Programming comes above all: it's not to divulge the encrypted message to anyone other than the two people in the galaxy who can pass its genetic test, but it _is_ allowed in dire circumstances to bypass core programming and act in self-defense. The droid weighs the options, calculating outcomes rapidly as its photoreceptor focuses on the man's green eyes.

It projects only one outcome that will provide highly optimal results, namely the escape of itself, Ben Solo, FN-2187, and the encrypted Resistance message, should it give in to General Hux's demand. The probability of such an outcome is fifteen million, three hundred eight-five thousand, four hundred and twelve to one. It recalculates quickly, adding in the rescue of Poe Dameron, and the probability nearly halves itself.

Well, then. There is no choice at all. BB-8 activates its self-destruct mechanism, the red light of the thing beeping in the reflection of General Hux's eyes, and powers its photoreceptor down.

With six seconds left, BB-8 chooses to run a simulation of itself, reunited again with Poe Dameron in the sunshine outside the base on D'Qar, beneath the shadow of the X-wings, cobbling together saved memory files to create it. Poe smiles, and rubs his hands on BB-8's hull, and says, _Hey, buddy! Good job! Buddy_ means BB-8, and BB-8 always does a _good job_ , because it is Poe's _buddy_ and it is _good_ and it—

Its outer hull groans in a puff of smoke and blue flame spitting from the cracks of its panels, and the BB unit keels over, gravitational arrays gone haywire. Its magnetic head clunks to the ground, receptors all gone dark as the void of space.

*

Poe Dameron's huddled in a cold cell. He still doesn't have boots or his jacket, and his hair is greasy, crusted with blood, and damp. He can't even close his eyes: every time he does he sees Hosnian Prime being torn apart again. _It's my fault_ , he thinks, his eyes open wide and staring at the wall. _I should have told Hux. I should have—_

He can barely move, paralyzed with guilt. Who had he known for sure was on Hosnian Prime? Korr Sella, for one: Leia's old assistant, sent by D'Acy not more than two weeks ago to ask the Republic for more funding. Leia had called her _Korrie_ and thought of her like a niece. Everyone in the Senate is certainly dead, unless they were lucky enough to be offworld—the Chancellor, the Ministers, everyone—

A whole system, gone. _Gone_. Poe can barely conceive of it. He'd thought of the destruction of Alderaan as a tragedy when he'd learned about it in school, and had never brought it up, ever, if General Organa was even close to earshot. A horrible thing, to lose a planet; something unspeakable to lose a whole system.

His thoughts are interrupted by the cell door clanging open, and a young man being thrown inside by a pair of black-uniformed petty officers. They slam the door shut again, the lock reactivating, and Poe blinks in confusion at the prone figure, struggling to move. He's landed on his face, and can't seem to get his arms under him: he's also been stripped of his jacket and boots the same as Poe has.

"Hey," says Poe, his voice rough from disuse. "You—okay?"

"Ungh," groans the other man, and rolls over with a great heave, bringing his face over to find Poe. "No. The—v-p-" He can't quite get words out, and goes into a shaking fit, his hands up by his chest as his muscles seize up. "F—uh-uh-uh—"

"Whoa," says Poe, unfolding himself and crossing the small floor. "Easy, pal. Deep breaths, and don't fight it. You got yourself drugged up with Hux's weird little cocktail, huh?"

"Yeah," manages the man, and in the dim light Poe can make out a prominent nose, black hair, weirdly angled face speckled with moles and smeared with dried blood—holy _Force_ , he knows exactly who this is: as if Leia didn't have fifteen different holos of this kid scattered around her office at any given time—and he's sure he's met him before, too, but the memory is escaping him.

He very nearly spits out the kid's name in shock, but realizes that if the Order is throwing someone else in here, someone will be watching how they interact. So instead, he pretends he has no idea that Ben Solo is in his cell, and crouches by his prone form. "What's your name?" he asks.

"Kylo," Ben hisses, and Poe nods, getting an arm under his neck and lifting him upright. He's not a light guy, and Poe winces as the strain on his muscles. _Kid_ , he'd thought: the gangly and sullen teenager he vaguely remembers from a party a long time ago has grown into a late-twenties brick shithouse. He's not sure if Ben knows who he is, but that's fine under the circumstances. "I'm…Jedi. _Ow_." Poe's let his head fall forward, and he can't quite lift it himself.

"Right. My mistake. Here—" He drags Ben to the wall, and lets him rest until his muscles stop spasming and his face goes slack and calm. "All right, Kylo. Want to explain what the _hell_ a Jedi's doing here?"

"Mistake," Ben says, as if afraid to speak any more than he has to. "Captured. Droid."

"Droid? What droid? _My_ droid?" Poe grips him by the shoulder. "Where's my droid?"

"Captured," Ben says, lips pulled back over his teeth. "With me. And Finn."

"Who's Finn?"

"Defected trooper. FN-2187. W-we—message—" Ben starts shivering again, his knees drawn up to his chest as he goes through another muscle seizure, and Poe supports his head until he's out of it and able to speak again. "How long does this take to wear off?"

"Depends on the dosage and how fast you metabolize it," Poe says. "They must have drugged you to the gills, 'cause you're a pretty big guy. How long you been here?"

"Don't know," Ben says through his teeth. "Can't get the Force online, so to s-p-peak."

"What were you saying about a message?"

"If you're Poe Dameron, it's in your droid. Tekka. Put it there."

Poe lets out a choice swear word or two and runs his hand through his greasy hair. "But Hux has the droid."

"He can't decrypt the message," Ben manages, and brings his head in close. "Nobody can. Poe. Listen to me. It's genetically crypted. Only someone with—match—can unlock."

"Match to who?"

"General Organa."

They exchange a look, both realizing full well that the key to the message is sitting in this room, and Poe sits back on his haunches. "Right," he says heavily. "So what's going to happen when Hux finds out he can't read the damn message?"

"Doesn't matter. It already did its job." Ben struggles to sit up and lets his head fall forward. "And I think your droid is gone, Poe. I'm sorry."

Poe stares at him, not comprehending the words coming out of his mouth. "Gone?" he repeats, blankly. "What do you mean, gone?"

"Hux was going to scrap it. I don't know if he did yet." Ben shuts his eyes.

"No. _No_." Poe stand, agitated. "No, no, no. That's my droid. _My_ droid. There's got to be some mistake. You're sure Tekka put the message in _my_ droid?"

"Orange and white BB unit, designation BB-8?"

Poe shuts his mouth and tries very hard to control his emotions. "Maybe—maybe he's okay. Maybe Hux asked him to show him the message and he's stalling, acting like he can't retrieve it, buying us time. Huh?"

"Maybe," says Ben, his eyes sympathetic. "Look, we've got to get out of here. Do you know where we are, or what ship we're on, or what—what system we're near? There's got to be a ship we can steal and fly out of here with."

"What ship—oh," says Poe, realizing. "You were unconscious when they brought you here, weren't you?"

Ben frowns. Why would that matter? "Yeah. Why?"

"We're not on a ship, pal." Poe spreads his arms grandiosely. "Welcome to the crown jewel of the First Order, Kylo. You and I are well and truly trapped on Starkiller Base."


	6. be still, and wait without hope

D'Qar is a jade-colored planet of jungles and plains, lush and windy, ringed by a belt of asteroids that leave a banded shadow on the surface. Far from used space lanes and deep in the Ileenium system of the Outer Rim, it's the perfect place for a remote base, out of reach of the First Order. It has no indigenous intelligent life-forms, though once a civilization of some kind had lived there, if the immense ruins dotting plain and jungle are anything to judge by.

Rey barely sees it, sitting behind Luke as Han pilots the Falcon down behind the Resistance fleet to planetfall. She should have been excited: she should have been jumping out of her seat at the chance to actually see the Resistance base, to involve herself in the glamorous and exciting world of rebellion, to ask Luke Skywalker a thousand questions. Instead, nothing but guilt and dread gathers in her belly as she gazes unseeing through the transparisteel.

Ben and Finn are both captives of the Order and there was not a damn thing she could do to stop it as it happened. BB-8, too. She can't even feel guilty, reasonably; she just feels numb. _Everything I like for a single minute gets snapped up,_ she thinks to herself miserably. She can't believe she called him _laser-brain_. What if that was the last thing he'd ever heard her say?

It wasn't like the stories at all: the old war tales she'd loved to hear about, the Rebellion and the Empire—those were full of peril but everything was all right at the last minute, or in the end. Nobody ever talked about in-between periods of sitting and feeling as if you'd never feel anything again, or being so scared for your friends deep down that you thought you might cry.

Rey shifts in her seat and looks at the wall. _But this story isn't done yet,_ she thinks. _And I'm not, either._

They land on the surface, on a hilly landscape by an airstrip, and Rey walks down the gangplank close behind Luke, looking around in curiosity at the rushing pilots, the landing X-wings, the mechanics and the shouting engineers.

All four of them hurry to an archway, descending into an underground bunker. D'Acy is already there, waiting for them. "Good to see you made it," she says, turning and giving them a quick once-over. "Connix?" The young officer appears out of nowhere, wide eyes trained on her superior officer. "Get Rey here some appropriate clothes, please, and make sure she's eaten something."

Oh, right. Food. Rey realizes that she hasn't eaten since—well, since breakfast on Jakku, which can't have been more than eight standard hours ago, but feels like a lifetime. Her belly growls, and Connix smiles at her as Luke and Han step past with Chewbacca and begin to speak with D'Acy and the other assembled officers.

"Come on," she says. "I'll show you the mess hall."

*

"You need to understand something," says Han Solo, brandishing his finger like a weapon in D'Acy's face. "I don't care what kind of plan you cook up in here, but I have already lost my wife, and I am not losing my son."

"Han—" D'Acy begins, looking exhausted, but Luke steps forward.

"I'm sure Ben is fine," he says, trying to be reassuring, but Han isn't having it.

"Yeah?" he asks, turning on Luke angrily. "Can the _Force_ tell you that?

Luke sighs wearily. Ben had clearly inherited more from his father than a crooked chin. "I would know if he was dead, Han," he tells him: and that's true enough—the loss of Ben in the Force would rattle him like nothing else. "He's alive, and he's fine for now."

"We should take action," says D'Acy, turning to the central table. "We have located their base, and the weapon it holds."

"There's one thing you should know," says Luke, turning away from Han for a moment. "The oscillator shields are unstable. One good shot to the generators, and the whole shield goes down, base-wide."

The room is silent, shocked. "How do you know this?" asks D'Acy.

"Leia," says Luke simply. "That's why she disappeared. We were able to unlock the message aboard the Falcon before we reached Takodana. It was encrypted with a genetic match-code. The droid carrying the message is now in the hands of Hux."

Murmurs sweep the circumference of the table. "If she risked her life to bring us this information," says Snap Wexley, a pilot who dwarfs D'Acy, "then we should use it. Destroy the base, destroy the weapon, and avenge the Hosnian system."

"I agree," says D'Acy, mouth a thin line. "And we need to move now, while Hux is distracted. I'm sure he has all his energy focused on trying to extract the message from the droid. Wexley, you're taking over Black Squadron. I want fighters ready to go in an hour. We'll iron out the details till then. Meet back here in forty-five. Dismissed."

*

Rey's never eaten food like this in her whole life. There's bread, hot vegetable mash, creamy butter, fried tip-yip, and as much hot caf as she wants. Connix (who insists Rey call her Kaydel) watches with amazement as Rey licks her bowl clean and sets it down on the table in the mostly-empty mess hall.

"You, um, want more?" she asks.

"No, I'm all right for now, I think," Rey says cheerfully. With food in her belly, the prospects of getting Ben and Finn back seem a good deal brighter.

"Great. Follow me, and we'll get you changed."

"Why do I have to change?" Rey asks, following Kaydel down the corridors. "I'm fine in this."

The blond girl turns a corner and beckons her into a supply room. "Because the Commander said so—also because your clothes are _really_ dirty."

"Well, of course they are," Rey says, baffled. Clothes are supposed to be dirty, aren't they? She then realizes Kaydel's mustard-colored vest and light yellow shirt are very clean by comparison, and her embarrassment must show on her face, because Kaydel smiles and opens a locker.

"Where you're going, you'll need something sturdier," she informs Rey. Inside are sturdy pants with kneepads sewn in, a new shirt, a pale gray jacket with a high collar and long sleeves, and a fresh set of Resistance-issue underthings. Kaydel takes Rey's flummoxed expression in stride as she picks up the basics set and stares. "If you need help with those, I'm here. Oh, and shower—here, the communal freshers—"

"I had a bath on Takodana," protests Rey, following Kaydel in spite of herself. Really, all that water—it had been such a waste, and she can't fathom having _another_ shower so soon.

"Yeah, _before_ you got blown up by troopers," Kaydel says, and reaches for Rey's cheek, wiping a smudge of dirt off her skin and showing her thumb to Rey. "See?"

Rey blinks. The idea that _any_ dirt or sweat is instantly scrubbed away by these people, water be damned—it's just ridiculous. And wasteful. And—

"After you're done, I'll rustle you up some more tip-yip," says Kaydel, in a cajoling tone probably reserved for wayward children. Rey perks up anyway.

"Right. Okay. See you 'round." She waits until Kaydel has disappeared around the corner before stripping down to nothing and turning the water on. Somehow she doesn't think this is quite the same situation as the steam bath on Takodana, where she could be naked in front of people, and for a moment she's sad she can't be there instead, half-asleep in the heat and steam as Ben—

Ben.

Her mind goes to where she hasn't let it go since now, and all she can see is Ben's broad chest, pale and damp with sweat and steam. Black hair, curling in the heat, lifting off his neck, stuck to his pink cheeks as he breathes— _no_ , she tells herself, half-terrified of the sensation gathering between her legs. She's never thought of _people,_ let alone any one person, as a jumping off point for what happens to her body before she gets a hand between her trousers and gets off to go to sleep at night, but here she is, the thoughts of Ben Solo's naked body making her breath come short and shallow and her body flush with heat that has nothing to do with the water coursing over her shoulders.

He wanted her. That was clear as day as he had looked at her in the steam room, even without the strength of the emotion he'd been trying to hide from her perception—she could sense it, but not in a way she could explain. It wasn't like she heard his thoughts, really, but more like… well, it had felt like static electricity had flattened all the hair on her arms the wrong way down, and prickled on the back of her neck—something intense and strange. But he could not touch her, and she knew that. Stories about the Jedi she'd heard, while varied on other aspects, were very clear on one thing: Jedi were celibate and they did not have personal lives or pursue worldly attachments.

Even worse, she thinks she might want him, too. She isn't quite sure, having never had the opportunity to muse over unimportant things like feelings or emotions, but she'd felt so _strange_ when he'd dropped his towel in the showers on Takodana and exposed his body to her of his own free will. She'd tried not to stare at his body, but couldn't help it—she'd never seen a grown man without his clothes before in broad sunlight, and the glimpses she'd caught before paled in comparison with all of him at once, so close. Physically, he was intimidating enough even with his clothes on: without them, every inch of his body screamed _danger_. He had just enough fat clinging to his body to obscure the sharper lines of his muscle and bone, but he was broad and powerfully built, and a trail of black hair starting below his navel, and moles scattered along his skin like the constellations she liked to pick out at night: the Ship, R'iia's Scythe, the Dune.

Danger. But a good danger, in some kind of way. Maybe that was why she'd been snappish on the Falcon: her own feelings scared her to death and she couldn't find words to explain them.

Rey sighs, rinses herself clean, and gets dressed. There's no time for this now: they have a plan to cobble together and she doesn't intend to miss a moment of it.

*

"You seem like you're doing better," says Poe, resting his head against the durasteel wall.

"Yeah," says Ben, flexing his hands to test them. "I think it's finally wearing off." He closes his eyes and reaches out with the Force, feeling it gather back to him like an old friend at last, now that his focus has been restored. It's like sunlight permeating every cell, scouring the exhaustion and the cold out of him, and he suddenly realizes he's starving. "Do they feed prisoners around here?"

Poe grins. "Once a day, and it's protein gunk out of a tube. I don't think feeding prisoners is high on Hux's level of priorities."

"Well, I don't know about you," says Ben, getting to his feet cautiously, "but I'm going to go find something." Pleased that his knees can at least hold his weight, he rolls his shoulders and stretches, glorying in his muscles doing what he wants them to do for once.

Poe snorts. "Yeah? How are you getting out of here? Jedi powers?"

For answer, Ben reaches out and clenches a fist. The durasteel door crunches down on itself as if it's foil, and the two troopers outside guarding turn, weapons ready. "Hey!" one barks.

Ben focuses on them. "You will drop your weapons and leave the cell immediately."

Poe's mouth drops. The force of Ben's suggestion is so strong that he finds himself reaching for a weapon to drop, and has to fight to not get sucked into it. The troopers never stood a chance. "We'll drop our weapons and leave the cell immediately," one says to the other, and they both let their blasters clatter to the ground before turning and walking away briskly, and Ben scoops up one and tosses the other to Poe.

"How the _hell_ —" says Poe.

"Run first, questions later," Ben says. "We're finding Finn and your droid and then we're getting out of here."

*

FN-2187 is not having a good day.

The morning had started like every other morning: out of bed at 0600, breakfast, assembly, training, then mission brief. He'd been assigned to a transport shuttle down to Jakku and told to wait, and before he'd known what was happening he'd come face to face with two men and a girl who looked _pissed_ , and he'd woken up strapped into a jumpseat.

They'd saved his life. They hadn't needed to: they could have easily dumped him or killed him, but they had saved him, and even though he'd been trained to never spare lives on the basis of emotion, he'd decided he'd owed them. _Forget it, anywhere is better than the Order_. The older man had given him a name, and he'd liked it a lot. A name, like civilians. Like normal people. Something that he'd never had, or if he had, he'd forgotten it. Everything was bright and promising.

Then the day had gone belly-up on Takodana, and he'd been stunned and dragged back, unable to defend himself, but hey: at least he wasn't dead yet.

Phasma, however, is incredibly furious, and is not going easy on him in the indoc chamber. He can't really fault her for that: his behavior reflects badly on her especially. He guesses he's just lucky that Hux himself didn't come in for a visit.

The indoc chamber is an indent in the floor, like an egg cup. He sits in the bottom, wearing his black compression gear, with nodules stuck to his head, and receives calculated electric shocks while images of the Order and the Resistance flash across the screens. It's supposed to make him associate rebellion and individuality with pain, but all it's making him do right now is scream, scream so hard his jaw aches as agony ripples through his head and body, scream until he's hoarse and tears are streaming down his face.

Phasma doesn't care. Phasma has never cared. She stands impassively, watching from under her chromium helmet, and waits.

FN-2187 is so caught up in the pain that he doesn't notice when the doors explode open, or when Phasma turns to shoot on sight. He only notices something's different when the pain finally stops, leaving him slack and shivering, and a pair of hands reaches down, under his arms, dragging him out. They're nice hands: strong and capable, even if whoever they belong to smells like a latrine.

"I've got him," says a man's voice he doesn't recognize, and he sucks in air as he tries to find a face to go with it. "He's not doing great, Ben."

There's a choking noise, and a clanking, like armor is hitting armor. FN-2187 blinks and focuses, and sees Ben Solo, one hand outstretched, gripping Phasma around the throat-seal. The guy is evenly matched with her on physical terms, and it doesn't look good for Phasma. She's scrabbling at his fingers, desperate and unarmed. "Get him up on his feet," Ben says darkly, and the other man scoots an arm under his back and lifts him to stand.

"Ben," croaks FN-2187 in utter confusion.

"Hi, Finn," says Ben, not taking his eyes off Phasma. "This your boss?"

"Boss," says Finn, and coughs. "Yeah. Captain Phasma."

"Think she can tell us where the hangars are?" the other guy prompts.

"Where are the hangars?" demands Ben.

Phasma sputters, a static burst under her helmet, but shakes her head defiantly. "No," she spits.

Ben's eyes narrow, and even though he doesn't do anything, anything at all, Phasma begins to scream, a low, rough, awful, animalistic sound that makes Finn want to vomit. "Thank you," Ben says coldly, and drops her, an unconscious jumbled heap of shining armor, on the floor before he turns and looks at the pair of them. "Hangars are up three levels and on the other side of the command center. Let's go."

"You know," says the other man, helping Finn walk as they leave, "you're just a little pants-shittingly terrifying, Ben."

Ben lets a huff of air out of his nose as he calls a lift in the hall. "So my father liked to tell me," he says flatly.

"Uh," says Finn in the ensuing awkward silence. "Hi. I'm Finn." He cranes his head around to look at the other man, and he's so close all he can see is unkempt stubble and olive skin, black hair and a strong nose.

"Oh, right. Poe Dameron." The man turns his head and offers Finn a smile, and Finn's… kind of taken by it, actually. He has great teeth, and a nice smile, and—wait, _this_ is Poe Dameron, this is the _pilot._

"Oh, kark," he says weakly.

"What?"

"I was just, uh. I was in the landing party that arrested you on Jakku." Finn feels like an idiot, but the words are just coming and won't stop, and Poe drags him into the lift as it opens for them. Ben shuts the door and slams his fist on the button, blaster still at the ready. "I'm just—I'm sorry, I wasn't actually present when you were taken in, I was on one of the other troop transports, but I was just doing my job, and I feel kind of responsible."

Poe laughs. "Buddy, any responsibility you feel about that's gonna be absolved in about two milliseconds if you help us get off this base."

"Right," says Finn, who's struggling suddenly with the very awful urge to make Poe Dameron laugh again, because it's probably the best sound he's ever heard in his life, but he can't think of a single thing to say, and his stomach is tied into knots below his lungs.

Ben interrupts. "Phasma knew where BB-8 was. Hux said something about engineering?"

"Engineering," Finn echoes, trying to think. "That's usually by applied sciences. Was it mechanical engineering or weapons engineering? Or structural engineering?"

"Wherever they'd take a droid to be disassembled to get something valuable out of it," says Poe thinly, and Finn blinks at the expression on his face.

"Disassembled—I'm so sorry, uh, Dameron—probably, uh, down in applied sciences, then. I don't know where it is, but—"

The lift doors slip open, and an officer makes to step in. He pauses at the three of them, his eyes bulging in shock, and Ben immediately grabs him with the Force, dragging him into the lift as the doors shut again.

"Don't do that mind reading thing again," says Finn. "Please. It freaks me out."

" _Fine_ ," says Ben sharply, and turns on the officer, utilizing the Force in a slightly gentler way. "You will tell us where the applied science division is on this base."

"I—I—" The man gapes.

"Applied science. _Now_." Ben pushes, and Poe winces slightly at the weird feeling prickling up his arms.

The officer's features fall back into composure. "Of course. Take the lift all the way down to the first level, make a right, and the wing is all Applied Sciences."

"Thank you," says Poe automatically, and grits his teeth when the man looks at him in befuddlement. "I mean—can we get this guy out of here?"

The doors to the lift slip open at the next level and the officer is put out, wandering happily down the hall, before they slip shut again and the lift continues down to Level One.

*

Rey eyes herself in the mirror over the dressing area shelves. The clothes fit well enough, and she's been allowed to keep her boots. They've issued her a bag that sits on her belt and thumps lightly against her thigh with every step: she wonders how much fried tip-yip she can put in it. The underthings were confusing, but Connix had come to her rescue before she'd managed to put on the things backward or upside down, and stepped back out to give her privacy while she finished dressing.

Privacy. What a concept. Rey exhales lightly, turning her face from side to side to make sure all the dirt is gone, then pats her blaster at her thigh holster. "Kaydel?" she asks loudly. "I'm ready."

The blond girl comes back and cheerfully leads her out and back to the mess hall, delivering on the promised extra food, of which Rey eats a few bites and packs the rest in plastwrap, putting it in her bag before following Kaydel back through the maze of tunnels to the command center.

"Rey," says Luke, looking relieved to see her. He beckons. "Come over here, please."

She steps through the crowd, feeling unsure of herself, and stands just behind him, shy of these people gathered around the table, all talking. "What's going on?" she whispers.

Luke whispers back. "They're trying to figure out whether or not rescuing Dameron and my nephew first before attacking the base is the way to go."

"Well, of course they have to rescue Ben and the pilot," says Rey, befuddled. "Why wouldn't they?"

He sighs. "The thing is, Rey…Dameron might be dead. Even if he's not, that's two lives against billions potentially lost if we don't attack now."

"You're saying Ben's not worth it," says Rey, horrified. "But he's your _nephew_ —"

Luke smiles. "Oh, trust me. You missed the fun part. Major Brance suggested they attack first and run rescue later, and Han's just been escorted out for punching Major Brance in the face."

"Good for him," says Rey fiercely. "And what about Finn?"

Luke's face falls a little. "They seem to think a captured trooper who defected and was captured again isn't even worth the discussion."

"We simply can't allot the resources," says D'Acy, who's been listening to them. "I'm sorry, Rey."

Rey blinks. "What resources?" she finds herself asking.

D'Acy's forehead wrinkles. "The ships, the manpower needed to mount a search and rescue—medical aid, which will undoubtedly be required—"

"I'll go," says Rey simply, and the table erupts in murmurs and stares. "What?" she demands, feeling defensive. "I can get in and out quietly."

"That's true," Luke says, "she can."

"All I need is a ship to get me there. If you—" A crazy idea is rising up in her head, one she can't shove away. "If you let Han Solo take me there, we can land and get into the building. We'll find the pilot and Ben Solo— _and_ Finn," she adds with some steel in her tone, "and we'll get back out again. You can launch your attack as quick as you please, right after we've gotten off the base."

"Rey—" D'Acy looks aghast. "This isn't a base like we have here. It's an entire planet. You'd have to be off the planet itself by the time we launched our attack."

"Why are we even entertaining this?" demands a white-haired man with a sour expression. "Who is this girl, anyway?"

Stung, Rey opens her mouth, but Luke takes her wrist gently and speaks instead. "Rey is a very talented and highly adaptable engineer we found on Jakku, Captain Gawat. She is also strong with the Force, as I have discovered. I believe if we gave her the opportunity, she could very well retrieve Dameron and my nephew." Rey doesn't miss the firm emphasis on the last two words, and Gawat nods after a moment.

"If she is captured," he says after a moment, "she is on her own. We cannot waste resources on retrieving her." There's a murmur of agreement, and even D'Acy nods, giving Rey a sympathetic look.

Rey sets her jaw and nods at the man. "Don't worry about that," she says evenly. "I'm used to being alone."

"Then it's settled," says D'Acy. "You'll take the Falcon with Captain Solo, go to Starkiller Base, get the pilot and young Solo, and get out. You understand if you are captured, then you are on your own?"

"Yes," says Rey, throat slightly dry. "I do."

"Good. You'll leave immediately. Skywalker, if you would debrief Captain Solo…?"

"Yes, of course," says Luke, and takes Rey gently by the elbow, steering her out of the conference area and into the hall, where Han lunges at them, backed up by Chewbacca.

"Luke! Are those grass-eating, cotton-stuffed uniforms in boots going to even _entertain_ the idea of saving my—"

"Han," says Luke, patiently. He lets go of Rey and grips the other man by the arms. Han doesn't even look at Rey. He's so wound up and ready to fight that despite his age, Rey can suddenly see precisely where Ben gets his poor impulse control from.

"You listen to me, Luke. I swear if those nerf-kriffing, useless sacks of bantha shit even _try_ to get between me and Ben—"

" _Han_!" says Luke, louder. "First of all, watch the language, and second of all, you're going to get him."

Han gapes as if he's been stabbed. "Wh—get him? Ben? _Me_?"

"Yes. You and Rey and Chewbacca are taking the Falcon and going to Starkiller Base immediately."

"That's—that's—" Han, completely at a loss, wraps Luke in an enormous hug and Chewbacca yelps in excitement. When he pulls back, there are tears in his eyes. "You're coming too?"

"No, I'm staying here. Got to help run the attack." Luke sighs, and looks much older than he is for a moment. "I really thought we were done with wars," he says sadly.

"Wars," mutters Han, checking his holster. "I'll tell you something. War's always going to be around as long as there's something for sentients to fight over, and when there isn't, they'll invent a reason."

"Oh, Rey," says Luke, and turns aside, digging into his pack. "Take these." He presses the cold silver saber into her right hand, and another saber hilt into her left. She frowns down at the design: it's far heavier and longer than the elegant thing she's got, with a thick, sturdy build and a slightly flared end, and the finish is almost like durasteel, not as bright as hers. There's something about it that seems strangely compelling to her, but she can't quite make out what it is.

Luke seems to know this, and covers it with his hand. "You can sense who this belongs to," he tells her, and _then_ she knows, knows as surely as if there had been an enormous holosign flashing it over the thing. "I'll give you a hint. I picked it up before we left Takodana."

"It's Ben's," she says. The thing, the strange and compelling feeling she gets: it's like the hair is lying flat on her arms but simultaneously lifted by static, almost _smelling_ of but it's not an olfactory sensation at all—something dark, bitter caf, burnt sweetness and shadow and light. 

"Yes," says Luke. "I see you're discovered what a Force-signature is." He smiles, the webbed lines at the corners of his eyes deepening. "I'd ask if you can sense mine, but—"

"I can," she says, excitement rising; and it's true, she _can_ sense Luke, and she has no idea why she hadn't noticed it before. He's all—bright-salt-sand, something awake and calm. She can't put it into words, but he smiles again. "What do I—" she tries _smell like,_ but that's not right: _taste_ like, but that's a big wrong— "what's my signature like?"

"Hmm," says Luke, tilting his head. "That's something you'll have to ask Ben about when you find him, I think."

"If we're done playing with the Force," interrupts Han, shrugging on a jacket, "I'd like very much to get to my kid before General Hux decides to have him for breakfast."

"Right, sorry," says Rey packing the sabers into her bag (making sure not to smash the tip-yip), and turns to Luke. "Luke—thank you for everything," she says all in a rush, and hugs him hard. She's not very good at hugging, having never exactly had the opportunity to do it often, but he squeezes her back and pats her on the back as she releases him. "I won't let you down. I'll bring them both home."

"I know you will," says Luke. "Han, don't let this one out of your sight."

"You have my word as a smuggler," says Han, grinning at his old friend. "All right, let's go. Falcon's refueled and waiting, and we're on a schedule."

*

"It's got to be here," says Finn softly, stepping on his toes as they sneak down the central walkway of the enormous laboratory. "This is definitely Applied Sciences. I know it."

Poe looks through an assortment of small objects on a table. "What is all this? Looks like multitools, keys, datacards—" Ben knocks into a shelf, sending something clattering to the ground. Poe whips around and hisses, "Shut up!"

"Sorry!" he spits back, and inches forward again. He's not exactly the stealthiest person in the world: being this tall and broad, he's bound to break something in close quarters. "See anything yet?"

Finn shakes his head. "Looks like—oh, wait." He steps forward, looking around the quiet lab. "Nobody's here, still. Come on. I see a databank. We can look at the records."

"Where did you find this guy again?" Poe asks.

"Jakku. Keep your eyes front. We don't need Hux sneaking up on us and—"

Ben feels it before he _knows_ it. It's the sensation someone might have if they were a needle suddenly put by a magnet: every ounce of sensation in his skin pulled back and directly to the back of his right shoulder, every nerve in his body screaming _danger danger danger!_ He doesn't think.

After all, he _is_ impulsive.

Ben dives for Poe, six feet in front of him, and the pair of them hit the floor hard and slide, a tangle of limbs as Poe's wind is knocked out of his chest and he gasps under Ben. A blue stun bolt sears through the air where Ben had been standing, and fizzles out against the opposite wall. He considers that, in the next millisecond. So they don't want him dead. Interesting. And he has the upper hand, because he knows they're coming, and if he has to play dirty to avoid being stuck by those damn saberdarts again, he will. It isn't much, but it's something. He drags Poe behind a shelf and puts his hand over his mouth to stop the wheezing, then stretches out his other hand and _pulls_ , and Finn comes sliding back silently, all the way to them by the ankle with an invisible hand clapped over his mouth. He rolls over in shock, and Ben holds a finger to his lips. He nods, and holds out his hand: it's a datastick. _Message_ , he mouths.

Poe's eyes widen, and they don't have time to do a thing, because Ben immediately senses the presence of eight armed troopers, and with a clenched fist and a bit of concentration, every one of them goes clattering unconscious to the ground.

They wait.

"Kylo, is it?" asks a cold, preening voice that all three of them know far too intimately by now. "Kylo. Interesting, that name. I suppose you knew going by your true one wouldn't be wise, but you would have been better served choosing a new face."

Cold sweat prickles down Ben's back. Poe claps a hand to his mouth and his throat bobs convulsively.

"It was rather difficult, finding out who you _really_ are. Public records, matching your facial scans to some old footage—well, I wish you'd told me. I would have been so much more welcoming to Ben Solo. Why, you're nearly a celebrity." Hux sounds like he's gloating, and Ben senses he's walking just past them, just outside the shelf they're huddled behind. He takes the datastick out of Finn's hand. "Come now. There are no darts. It's only me. Come out and let's have a civil discussion about that message."

Ben immobilizes him with the Force immediately, and is extremely gratified on hearing him choke a little. He stands up and ignores Poe's frantic "Ben, what are you _doing_ ," before stepping out into the dimmed light and confronting Hux face to face.

"You mean this message?" he asks, heart pounding with rebellion, and he holds his palm out. The datastick is very small in his hand.

Hux stares, his eyes fixed on the object. "Whatever you're about to do—"

Ben crushes it. It’s not hard, it's only made of duraplast and conduits, and he drops the destroyed fragments to the floor, the Force taking care of the rest. Hux's eyes are pale in the light, fixed on the shreds of duraplast. "That was an enjoyable civil discussion," Ben says dryly. "You didn't need that, right?"

"As if I didn’t make copies," says Hux, looking him dead in the eye. Ben's gut drops _. Does he know it's genetically locked?_

_They didn’t want me dead for a reason._

_Oh, shit._

"Ben!" screams Finn, and something slams into Ben's back, knocking him off his feet and numbing his whole body. His concentration breaks, and Hux is free. Ben's face smashes down onto the floor directly in front of his shiny black boots, and the man lifts a foot, rolling him over by the cheek and tapping the cold leather against his jaw. Ben can't move.  _Stunned. I've been stunned._

"Hmm," Hux says, almost as if he's studying a new specimen of plant. Ben can hear the scuffle as Poe and Finn are taken into custody by the troopers he hadn't sensed, because he was too focused on Hux, and why, _why_ can't he seem to just be a good Jedi for once in his life?

It hadn't mattered on Arkanis, where Luke had chided him for losing his focus and he'd sullenly promised to do better. Now it mattered like nothing ever had. He had friends, and he had Dameron and Finn counting on him, and people to get back to, and most of all he had—

"RY-4829, I think you'd better hit him with another stun blast. He doesn't seem to be taking it very well." Hux sounds cold, and vaguely triumphant, and oh, no, Ben does not like that at all.

"Yes, sir," says a trooper's filtered voice, and Ben knows nothing at all.


	7. where you are is where you are not

"We'll come out of hyperspace as close to the planet as we can," says Han, tapping his fingers on his knee. "That'll keep us low and off their scanners and get us through the shield. Ships at sublight speeds can't get through, but we can if we stay at lightspeed."

"How…close?" ventures Rey. Their conversation hasn't exactly been wordy on the flight out, even though she's tried to make conversation. Han is a little withdrawn and crusty, like most older men seem to be—well, with the exception of Luke, but Luke is a Jedi—and she's wary of pressing.

She can sense he's worried. She resolves not to be.

"Surface, if we can." He leans forward and flicks a few switches, checking the systems. "Ready?"

"Surface?" Rey's horrified. "Is that even possible?"

"I never ask myself that until after I've done it," he tells her, and lets out a breath before jerking the hyperdrive lever back and bringing them out of lightspeed—

—directly into the treeline of an oncoming and very, very large planetary body.

Rey shrieks, Chewbacca howls, and Han lets out a bellow of "Hold _on_ ," before slamming back on the yoke and crashing through the trees. Branches smear across the viewport panes and Rey's hands automatically fly up to cover her face.

"Pull up!" she shrieks crazily. "Pull up!"

"I get any higher, they'll see us!" shouts Han, and Chewie's big furry arms wrap around Rey tightly, holding her safely in her seat while they bounce so hard she feels like her teeth might rattle out of her mouth. She clings to him and waits for it to be over, and the Falcon finally comes to a screeching halt on a pure white plain.

"We’re on a cliff," says Han, checking the computer. "There's an access door two klicks to the south."

Chewbacca lets go of Rey with a mumbled reassuring sentence or two in Shyriiwook, and Rey slips out, her legs feeling like they're made of water and her heart pounding. "What—what's all the white stuff?" she asks, peering out the viewport. It looks familiar, but she's sure she's never seen it before. Enormous trees of a type she's also never seen before point toward the sky: the white substance clustered in their needled branches. She wonders if the trees have a name.

Han blinks. "It's—it's snow," he says, and gives her a once-over. "I've got some warmer things in the storage compartments. Go get gloves and a scarf."

"Warmer?" Rey can't fathom why anyone would want to dress in _more_ clothing, as she's already slightly hot underneath the jacket, but Han is already heading down the corridor, and she gives Chewie a baffled look and heads off to the storage area quickly, rummaging around. There's a knitted soft brown nerfwool scarf, which she tucks into her bag, and a pair of gloves that are just a little too big for her hands, but she pulls them on anyway, and after she's outfitted she heads back out and down the ramp onto the snow, which looks soft and fluffy and inviting.

Her boots sink in, and she grimaces. "Oh, it's _cold_ ," she says.

"Yep. Frozen water. Falls from the sky." Han's looking through his macrobinoculars. "I've got eyes on the access door. All right. Let's go. Stay by me, follow my lead, and don't do anything reckless."

"Frozen water that _falls from the sky_ ," Rey repeats, astonished, as they begin to trudge through the snow. What a concept—like something out of a children's story. She blinks up into the sunlight, as if expecting to see more falling at any moment, but the sky is clear and pale blue overhead.

 _This was your vision_ , says a tiny voice at the back of her mind. _You saw the snow._ She ignores it, pushing it away, and keeps walking.

"Get your scarf on. Your ears and your neck will freeze," says Han gruffly. Rey takes the thing out of her bag and looks at it for a moment, trying to figure out how to wrap it around her ears _and_ her neck, and Han sighs, stops, turns, takes the scarf, and expertly wraps it from the top of her head, down to her throat, around, and back to front, covering her exposed skin in less than a second. "There." With a nod of approval, he keeps walking.

Feeling like a child, she tromps after him in the snow. "You know, I'm not totally useless," she calls out. "I do have—skills, and things."

"Luke told me about your traps," says Han, throwing a look back over his shoulder. "He thinks you're very powerful with the Force. He said Ben initially brought it up."

"So you believe in the Force, too?" asks Rey.

"Mmm," says Han, looking directly ahead. "I didn't, for a while. Thought it was a bunch of crazy nonsense—you know. Magical power holding together good, evil, the dark side, and the light. A bunch of superstitious mumbo-jumbo. But—" he shakes his head, as if conceding. "But the craziest thing is that it's true. The Force. The light, the dark. All of it." A chill spreads up Rey's back that has nothing to do with the cold wind. "And if Luke says you've got it inside you, then I believe Luke."

"Did Ben—" Rey chews on her lip. "Did you realize it was true when Ben had it?"

Han chuckles. "Oh, sure. I mean, Leia was one hundred percent sure she was carrying a child who was a very strong Force-sensitive, which is what Luke called it. Said she could sense him, like a ray of light and dark. Of course, I didn't have a way to check that for myself, but—" He shakes his head. "Well, you come home one day and find your two year old _floating_  above the cooling unit looking for the hidden cookies, and you tell me if you think the Force is real or not."

Rey grins at the mental image of a toddler Ben. "I bet he was a terror," she says.

"You have no idea," Han tells her. There's an edge to his voice she's not sure she likes.

They trudge along in silence, and Rey gathers her courage up. "Was he—was he bad?"

Han sighs, and Chewie looks from Han to her, as if waiting. "Not—bad, as you'd think of a bad kid. He was a good kid. Or at least, he tried to be. But there were…incidents, you know, that kinda put the fear of the Force in us. Leia sent him off to study with Luke when he was about ten or eleven—she'd wanted him to get into politics, but he had no patience for any of it—kinda like me." He smiles. "So it was the Jedi Academy for Ben, and after that—well. He would come home for visits and be…distant. I think he thought we sent him away because we were afraid of him. Hole up in his room, come out for food. Leia didn't know what to do, and I sure as hell didn't know what to do, and whatever we did just seemed to make it worse. So he stopped coming home. Leia and I separated after that. And after Leia's last run in the Senate…oh, about six years back, I think, some idiot politician found out she was Vader's daughter, and released that to everyone, so it was all over the HoloNet, and Ben—" Han sighs. "Well, Luke had already told him a few years back, so he mostly just resented us for not telling him. There was a big fight. I said some things I shouldn't have. And…things deteriorated from there, I guess. A year or so after that, Leia tried to get us all together for a family dinner. Ben wouldn't come if I was there. I showed up anyway. We just sat at the table eating, pretending we weren't staring at his empty seat. And a year after that, Leia—Leia disappeared."

Rey, shocked, sees that Han's eyes are watery, and looks away to give him some privacy. "I'm sorry," she says.

"The wind," he says by way of excuse, sounding choked, and scrubs at his face with a gloved hand. "I know Ben went to see his mom before she disappeared, but it was at her office on Hosnian Prime, and Luke was there. Not a, you know, sit down, family talk, just a quick briefing on some Resistance business. I'm just glad he got to see her."

"I'd always thought having a family would be—I don't know. Fun." Rey tucks the scarf more firmly into her collar. _Maybe I don't really want a family_ , she thinks.

"Oh, it wasn't all knock-down fights and arguing," Han assures her. "Family isn't—you know, it's not all one thing, all the time, for everyone. We had some great times." He smiles faintly, as if far away, and Rey catches, to her surprise, glimpses of his memory through the Force: a dark-haired, large-eared child who could only be Ben splashing and shrieking on the shore of an ocean; a skinned elbow and Han hugging his teary-eyed son as a woman who must be Leia sticks a bacta patch on it; Ben driving a speeder for the first time with Han in the passenger seat gripping every available surface within reach to brace himself; Ben proudly presenting his mother with a pastry of some sort he made himself, blushing as everyone in her office sings to her for her birthday celebration; Ben in tears confessing he'd broken the fresher and Han trying his hardest not to laugh; all three of them together at a festival; all three of them falling asleep on a sofa while the HoloNet screen glows and buzzes on; tiny Ben crawling into bed with his sleepy parents whispering about a nightmare and Han saying, _it's all right, kid. Come on in here, monsters can't get ya._

Tears prick at the corner of Rey's eyes. So that _is_ what families are supposed to be like, and she's missed it all, because the people she'd wanted to have most in the world had just dumped her like unwanted trash and never came back, were never coming back for her. She hadn't had time to really think about that yet, but now, confronted with what she knows beyond a doubt is the truth, she can't stop the tears from falling, cold on her cheeks.

"Hey, hey," says Han gruffly, handing her a piece of scrap fabric from a pocket. "Don't cry out here, kid. Your face will freeze."

She snorts and takes the scrap, wiping her eyes. "Sorry," she says.

Han looks at her like he's not sure how to put anything he wants to say into words. "Sometimes," he says, hesitantly, "people have kids, and they can't… be parents to them. Good parents, I mean, or parents at all. It doesn't mean the kid did something wrong, or deserves it. Nobody asks to be born, you know."

Rey wipes her face with the back of her glove. "Thanks," she says, and she means it.

Han coughs. "Well, look at that. We're here." He indicates for her to drop behind a snowdrift, and she does, the snow soaking into her knees and chilling her. Two armed troopers are guarding the access door, ten meters away. "Chewie," he asks, "how are your long distance sniper skills?"

Chewie makes a noise that can only be described as a chuckle, and hefts his bowcaster over his forearm. He takes careful aim, and with two lightning-quick shots, the guards are down, blending into the snow in their white armor.

"Let's go," says Han, and they race toward the door, huddling together in the recessed alcove from the view of anyone above or to the side, and thankfully out of the wind. "All right, kid. Time to show me what you've got."

Rey yanks the panel off, ripping off the gloves with her teeth and fumbling with the wiring and the circuits. It's not very difficult, but it takes a moment, and Han is rustling around behind her. She shuts her eyes and reaches out, and suddenly she _knows_ that the blue wire touched to the circuit panel simultaneously with the yellow one will open the door. _How_ she knows is irrelevant. The knowledge is just… _there_ , there for the taking.

She touches them both to the panel. The thing sparks, and the door hisses open.

"Nice job," says Han, nodding at her, and Rey grins, following him into the bowels of Starkiller Base.

*

"Wake up, Solo," snaps a cold and peeved-sounding voice. "We don't have all bloody day."

Ben blinks his eyes open (hard to do, one of them is swollen almost shut) and peers at the speaker. It's Hux again, and he looks twice as angry as the last time Ben saw him, which is somewhat satisfying, but also slightly worrying. "Morning," he says. He has no feeling left in his hands, but seeing as how they're locked in cuffs and suspended over his head in a force-field, that's understandable. "How can I help you?" Both knees shift from their spot on the hard floor.

Hux steps forward and brings a thin baton down across Ben's thighs, hard enough to break the skin and bruise the muscle beneath the canvas pants. Ben locks a scream behind his teeth and stares directly at the man instead. He's been well-trained on how to deal with interrogation, drilled on how to resist by meditation—but the Force is unusable now; the tiny shocks running through his wrists and arms enough to throw off his concentration every time he tries to gather it to him. At least he has a high pain threshold.

"You're going to tell me exactly what the message from Leia Organa said," says Hux, forcing his chin up with the end of the baton to look at him. A lock of orange hair, loose from its perfect coiffure, dangles in front of his eyes. "You'll tell me now."

"I don't know what it is," Ben says, shaking his head. Where the hell are Poe and Finn? It's going to take him forever to get out of here if he has to track them down again. "Nobody can read it." _Please_ , he prays to the Force, _please do not let him know it's genetically locked._

"We heard you speaking to Dameron in his cell," Hux snaps. "You said it was crypted. How is it crypted? What kind of code is necessary for it to be unlocked?"

Ben sucks in a breath. Thank the Force. He doesn't know. "I'm telling you I don't know any more than what I was told," he insists. "Nobody can read it. Even the Resistance can't get it open."

"You expect me to believe that General Organa left a message not even the _Resistance_ could decode and left it in the hands of a pilot?" Hux crouches down, bringing his face level with Ben's. "You expect me to believe that _you_ , her _son_ , don't know how to open a message she left?"

"I don't know what _your_ personal experience with your mother is like," Ben growls, "but my mother and I were not joined at the hip."

Hux's eyes darken, and Ben senses a wild tide of white-hot fury rising at the mention of his mother, and thinks, _oh, soft spot there_ , before a black-gloved fist smashes into his face. Ben retreats mentally, and lets Hux beat him until his nose and lip is bleeding and his left eye is swollen and bruised, before the other man wears himself out and steps back, panting, hair in disarray as he collects himself and stares at Ben in cold disdain.

"You will tell me how to decrypt that message," he says. "If you don't, your friends die."

"If you wanted Dameron dead, you would have killed him already," says Ben.

"Of course, if nothing better came along. Fortunately, now we have you, a much better link to Organa, don't you think? He's expendable now."

"My mother trusts Dameron far more than she ever trusted me," Ben says, and feels horrible for saying it. "She trusted him with her life. He doesn't know how to get the message decoded either. It was supposed—" He presses his lips together, ignoring the pain that shoots through them. _Put on the act. Let him think you have something._

"What?" demands Hux. "It was supposed to what?"

"Nothing," says Ben, spitting out blood. "I don't know. I'm not—it's only an educated guess."

"An _educated guess_ ," says Hux, cold as a glacier. "Well, here's an educated guess for you. You can make an educated guess as to which of your friends I'm going to kill in the most painful way I can possibly devise, the pilot or the defected trooper, if you don't tell me how the message is decoded. You have half an hour to consider." He turns on his heel and storms out, and Ben listens to the door clang shut.

Finn. They'd probably kill Finn before they killed Dameron. Ben twists and tries to get free of the mag-cuffs, but they shock him again, and he grimaces. Finn has the least to do with any of this, and Ben wishes they'd never brought him along. The sight of the kid wracked in agony on the floor of the indoctrination chamber was worse than anything Ben had ever wanted to see, and he doesn't want to think about the fact that Finn might have to undergo that again.

Force, was anyone even coming to get them? Ben grits his teeth and tries to gather the Force again, but another shock rattles his focus and he growls in frustration. "Left me here," he spits, trying to concentrate. "Like they—dumped me—with Uncle _Luke_ —"

Ben knows anger is not a path to follow. He knows this, but as he sharpens and focuses his fury, using it as a weapon as he's rarely allowed himself to do since he began his formal training. _It doesn't count if it's an emergency_ , he thinks sullenly, and to his surprise, the next shock doesn't jolt him as badly. He's still able to hang onto a thread of focus, narrowing it down into a laser-like beam.

With any luck, he'll be able to break out of here in the next half an hour. That's all he needs. Just some time, and focus.

Ben spits more blood out of his mouth and keeps trying.

*

"Finn," hisses Poe, and the other man stirs in the light of the holding cell. They've been thrown into a cell that's clearly designed for maximum psychological stress: constant bright lights do not allow a single shadow to cast itself; clanging bells go off every so often to shock a person out of any possible sleep; there are no benches or seats. From where he sits, Poe can see every grain of dirt under his nails and every purplish bruise on Finn's dark face.

"What?" says Finn, sounding drained.

"I think I can break us out of here." The guards have only just left for the third time, and Poe's counted: they come back every ten minutes to administer a beating. It's never Hux, which means he's probably interrogating Ben Solo in person, which in turn probably means he thinks Ben knows how to get the message decoded.

"How?" asks Finn. "The door's mag-locked."

"I stole something from the Applied Sciences lab," Poe says. "A, uh. A slicer key."

"What? That’s great, Poe!" Finn jerks forward, the exhaustion leaving his eyes. "Where is it?"

"That's, um. That's the million-credit question." Poe coughs. "I swallowed it."

"You—you swallowed it." Finn looks stunned, then resigned. "I mean, I guess that was the smart thing to do."

"And, Finn," says Poe, closing his eyes, "you're gonna have to help me get it back."

There's a silence. Finn swallows. "Uh, like stick my fingers down your throat, kind of help?"

"Yeah. Like that kind of help."

Finn looks aghast. "You seriously can't just make yourself hurl?"

"I really can't," says Poe. "Look. We've got to do it now. We have ten minutes till the guards come back, and if we wait again, there's a good chance the thing's gonna be descending into my—"

"Stop," says Finn frantically, "stop, I get it." He sizes up Poe for a moment. "I guess I'm just lucky you didn't have time to shove it up your—"

"Finn. Come on. Now." Poe clears his throat and Finn comes over, kneeling down by him and taking him by the jaw with careful fingers. "Just—two should do it. Aim me toward the drain in the floor."

"Maker help me," mutters Finn. "All right. Just—if you bite my fingers off—"

" _Finn_."

"Right." Finn braces himself. "This day is _not_ going how I thought it would," he says to himself, and does what he has to do.

*

"All right," says Han, peering at the schematics Rey's summoned out of the panel on the wall in Engineering. "Looks like the prisoner holding cells are up on Level 8, block 47. It's a pretty big expanse. We can split up and look down both sides if we're careful."

"There'll be guards," says Rey. She can very faintly sense Ben's presence, a whisper of the feeling she got touching his lightsaber, but she can't focus on that right now. "I can distract them with the Force or something. We don't want to raise suspicion or an alarm if bodies start piling up."

Chewbacca barks approval. "Agreed," says Han. "Well—Chewie and I will knock a couple bucketheads out if we have to, and we'll cover it all and meet—back here?"

"What if they're injured?" she asks. "I don't have a medkit."

"There's equipment on the Falcon. They'll just have to get there." Han shuts the hologram down and nods at her. "You take the left, I'll take the right. Stay low, stay out of sight. Okay?"

"Okay," she says, and hoists her pack over her shoulder. "Meet you back here."

"Oh, and take this," he says once they reach the lift, handing her a comlink and what looks like a bracelet: a bluish glow tinging the face of the thing attached to it. "Comlink, homing beacon in case I lose you or we can't meet up. I can track it from the Falcon."

"In case you—" Rey blinks at him in surprise, and warmth spreads through her chest as he slips it onto her wrist. He would come back for her. He was _going_ to come back for her. "Oh," she says, and swallows down sudden tears.

Han looks awkward, but pleased. "Yeah, yeah," he says gruffly. "Search now, cry later. Go on."

The doors hiss open, and they step out, looking cautiously down the long hallway block. "See you soon," whispers Rey, and hurries off to the left.

*

"That," croaks Finn, staring at the wall and breathing through his nose, "was the worst thing I've ever had to do in my life."

Poe's fiddling with the retrieved slicer key at the door. "You didn't tell me you were a sympathetic puker," he says.

"I didn't know!" Finn turns to glare at him, but averts his eyes from the stain on the floor. At least it was only stomach acid and bile. There's been barely anything solid in Poe's stomach for a week. "Just get the door open, before they come back."

The lights on the panel flash green, and Poe lets out a hiss of victory before jerking it wide open. "Come on, let's go."

Finn hurries out, blessed dim light settling over the pair of them as they exit into the corridor. Poe is a dark shape in front of him, and he blinks, trying to adjust his eyes. "Okay," says Poe, stiffly feeling his way, "just stay behind me, and—"

With a soft _whump_ , he crashes into something enormous and fuzzy. Finn crashes into him, and spits hair out of his mouth—hair? Fur?—and Poe splutters, and a Wookiee turns around, softly yowling at them in shock.

"Holy Force," says Poe.

Han Solo appears out of the dark. "Dameron. Finn. Good to see you again."

"Solo," says Poe, sounding shocked. "Where—"

The distant sound of marching feet echoes from further down the corridor, and Han rushes them to the lift, away from the sound. "Move it, you two," he whispers. "Falcon's waiting."

"What about Ben?" asks Finn anxiously as they step into the bright lights of the lift and slam the doors shut.

"Rey's finding him. I gave her a homing beacon. I'll pick her up, no problem. You two look and smell like a dianoga's dream home." Han eyes them up. "No shoes, huh, Dameron?"

"They took them," Finn explains. "Boots, jacket."

"Yeah, it's snowy outside. Guess they figured you wouldn't get far if you managed to escape." Han turns to Chewie. "I don't suppose you can carry our friend Poe here, can you?" Chewie tilts his head, appraising Poe, and barks in the affirmative.

"Great," says Poe. "Thanks. Sorry about the smell."

Chewie pats him on the head with an enormous furry hand, and they descend down to Engineering again, back to the access door, and out into the snow.

*

Ben is still trying desperately to get out of the mag-cuffs. It's been at least fifteen minutes, and Hux will be back soon, and he cannot get the damn things undone no matter how hard he grits his teeth or forces himself to boil over with rage. He's twisted on one aching knee, straining his whole body away, trying his best to ignore the shocks and pulling on his wrists so hard that he can feel the bones in his left thumb grinding, about to dislocate, and that's when the door opens.

He jerks his head around and thinks wildly, _But Hux wasn't supposed to come back for another ten minutes at least,_ and that's when he realizes that the person standing in the door, edges all blurred with light from the corridor, is not Hux.

No, it's not Hux.

"Ben," she gasps, and he lunges toward her, feet scrabbling against the floor without any purchase. He doesn't even think: he just wants and wants and _wants_ , and Rey is stepping in, close enough to touch if his hands weren't locked above his head. His face is level with her waist, and she leans over him to fiddle with the cuffs, and he fights the urge to bury his face in her shirt and cry.

Instead he holds himself as still as he can while Rey gets the cuffs unlocked, and once they've sprung open, he collapses forward onto his hands and knees. "Rey," he says hoarsely, and clears his throat. "You—you came?"

"Yeah, of course I did," she says, hands frantically fluttering around his head, his shoulders, as if she's afraid to touch him. "You're hurt." She's clean, and wearing new clothes, and smells like soap and sweat and fresh air—but it's undoubtedly her, it's Rey, and she's _here_.

"I'm fine," he says, and tries to get his feet under him. "Just—get your arm under me."

"Like when you were off your neurons on Knockback Nectar," she says, and slips a shoulder and an arm under his back. She feels wonderfully firm, and Ben gets himself to his feet with her help. He reaches out, and the Force surges. Ben feels energy flow back into him, soothing his pain. "I'm sorry I called you a laser-brain," Rey says, helping him to the door.

"What?" he asks.

"On Takodana. It just—it was the last thing I ever said, and I didn't want you to die, and I—I—" There's a strange, thick quality to her voice. "Nothing. It's nothing. I felt like a real grade-A pile of garbage."

They get to the corridor. It's empty, and he turns her to face him in the doorway of the cell. "Rey…" He can't say anything else. She looks up at him expectantly, her sharp features outlined in shadow and light. He wants to kiss her. He wants to cry in relief.

Ben takes her by the arms and drags her toward him, folding her into his arms and squeezing tightly. He's not really the hugging type of person, and neither is Rey, from the way she stiffens awkwardly against him, but her fingers cling tight to his shirt and her head is just small enough to tuck beneath his chin even though he's barefoot. Ben's hand is big enough to completely cover her shoulder. He wonders what his hands would look like next to the rest of her—and he lets go immediately, feeling ashamed and confused by his own actions. She steps back and stares up at him like he's the most incredible thing she's ever seen, and Ben instantly wants to pull her back in, forgetting the shame, forgetting the—

"I—you—" She takes in a breath. "Ben. Your father's here. Han, I mean."

"Dad's here?" he asks. "Where?"

"We came on the Falcon. We've got to get you back to—" Her comlink beeps, and she lifts it, frowning and listening. "Copy that," she says into it, "I'm on my way with Ben. Tell them we're coming out." Rey puts it back down. "Lower level. Out the access door and two klicks north. Falcon's waiting. Han's already got Poe and Finn and he's about to call Resistance High Command and tell them to start the assault on the base."

Ben nods. "Lifts?"

"Down the hall. Hurry!" He follows her down, a gray shadow in the light of the corridor. They can talk later, once they're safely on board the Falcon.

The base suddenly rumbles, dust sifting through the ceiling, and he hurries to catch up, trying to keep his balance. "What the hell is that?" Rey demands.

"Shh," says Ben, lifting a hand. They pause, mid-corridor, and listen intently.

A blaring klaxon goes off, wailing out an alert, and Ben grips Rey by the hand. "We have to go _now_ ," he snaps. "The base is already under attack."

"The—what?" Rey gapes at him as he pulls her along, limping slightly. "But we only just got you!"

"Yeah, well, apparently someone in High Command thought otherwise." They get into the lift and Rey slams the button for the lowest level, leaning against the wall as they descend. The interior is brightly lit, and she turns to say something to Ben, but her breath catches in her throat.

"What?" he demands. "What's wrong?"

"Your _eye_ ," she whispers, voice shaking slightly.

"Oh." Ben touches the tender and bruised area beneath his eye. He's fairly sure he might have an orbital fracture, but that's neither here nor there. Her concern is strangely touching. "Yeah, it'll be pretty black for a while. Hux went crazy and beat me in the—"

"No, I mean, your _eye_ , eye," says Rey impatiently, and turns him to face the reflective surface of the other wall.

The vision staring back at him is a horror, and he realizes what she meant: the outer white of his left eye has turned scarlet with blood from broken capillaries. The entire effect is that of something monstrous, one crimson eye and swollen features.

"Huh," he says, and looks away from Rey, not wanting to subject her to any further discomfort at his appearance. "Sorry. I—"

Her hand curls around his arm, firm and warm, and she turns Ben back toward her, searching his face with her eyes. Likely it's only to catalog any more damage, he tells himself as her eyes flicker across his lips. That's the only reason. It must be. It has to be.

Rey leans in, hesitantly crowding his personal space, and looks up at his battered face. "Ben…" she says, and her other hand lightly touches his chest. The fingers are trembling. She's so close to his face, and he thinks in the back of his head he must really stink, but Rey doesn't care. She's almost touching him, her body so close he can feel the heat radiating from her like a furnace. _Just a little closer_ , he thinks, afraid to move, as if she's a wild Loth-cat he's trying to lure in. _Please. Don't be afraid. Just—_

They're interrupted as the lift grinds to a halt and opens its doors, and Rey whirls around, ears red as she hurries out. Ben follows, feeling as if he's been punched again, and also feeling as if an invisible tether is dragging him out; a line, the other end of which is tied to Rey. Nothing in his life has ever felt like this before: nothing and no one, and he can't piece it out—even if he wasn't in pain and shuffling after her across a dim floor as the walls trembled, he doesn't think he'd be able to.

The ceiling rattles furiously, and Rey's almost to the access door. Fresh snow extends, white and clean, all the way outside the door. He can just make out the distant shape of the Falcon, snow-frosted and waiting. She lifts a foot to step through the threshold, and that's when half the ceiling above the door collapses.

" _Rey_!" Ben bellows, and reaches out with the Force, yanking her back to him as pipes and chunks of durasteel crash just where she was standing, blocking the door. He's barely strong enough to stay upright as her momentum smacks into him, so they both crash to the ground, Rey on top, her backside wedged into his lap and her head knocking him in the mouth.

"Ow!" she yelps, and rolls off him, rubbing her head. "The door—" Wide eyes turn back and forth between him and the door, realization blossoming as she understands what's happened. "Your mouth, are you—"

Ben groans and spits out a gob of blood and saliva. "Fine," he grits through his teeth. Both legs ache like fire where she'd slammed into them and his whole body hurts. " _Force_ , you're heavier than you look."

"Well, you're _exactly_ as heavy as you look, so shove off," Rey retorts, and helps him up again. "We've got to find another way out of here. I saw on the schematics…" She concentrates, and he can sense the Force, permeating her memory, telling her _that's the way to go_. "There's one down there," she says confidently, pointing down the long room, "on the…left. Leads into the forest."

"We'll take it," he rasps, and they head off together, going too slowly for comfort as the base groans around them and sirens wail their warning song, far off in the distance.


	8. the bleeding hands we feel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He does not answer her for a moment, or ask what she means. He only looks at her, one eye gone black in the dim light and the other white as a moon, and his hand leaves her face before he whispers, " The Jedi-Killers," and just like that he's gone, stumbling back into the trees, disappearing between the dark trunks and branches.

"Supreme Leader," says Armitage Hux, kneeling.

He does not kneel to anyone as a rule: there are, of course, exceptions made for particular planetary customs, and obviously _the_ exception (with a capital E) is the hologram of the being staring down at him from on high. Snoke does not take disrespect lightly, and Hux does not take consequences lightly.

In fact, he tries to avoid them at all costs. Hence, the prostration.

"The boy has escaped," Snoke rumbles, a ghastly quality to his voice. "You had him in the most secure cell in the most secure block, and yet…he escaped. Explain this."

"He is—" Hux tries hard to not look up with venom in his eyes. He loathes being wrong as much as he loathes anyone below him. "He is a powerful Jedi, my lord. I sent my— _your_ —Knights, the Jedi-Killers to hunt him down as soon as I realized he was gone. He cannot have gotten offworld. None of our ships are unaccounted for."

Snoke strokes his chin with a finger. "And the pilot?"

Hux's brow furrows. "I…Dameron was taken back into custody an hour ago." The ceiling rumbles, and he fights the instinct to flee. "My lord—the base is under attack. I must command my men."

"Go. Command your men." Snoke is a spectral figure, flickering in the gloom like a mocking harbinger of death from above. "Command them, and fight off the Resistance scum, and if he is as powerful as you seem to think he is…bring the boy to me, alive and unharmed."

"Yes, my lord."

Snoke pauses, leaning forward. "There is another. A girl."

"A— girl?" Hux is taken aback. "We have no record of—"

"No. You would not. She is with Solo. If you cannot take him alive, take her."

Hux knows better than to argue or ask questions. "Yes, Supreme Leader."

*

Snow lies thick and heavy on the ground as Rey and Ben emerge from the other access door, gasping for air and clinging to each other: Ben, clinging to Rey because he does not think he can stand—Rey holding on to Ben out of terror.

The sun is going out. That is all Rey can think as she stares blindly up into the dark gray sky: the star that had given Starkiller Base its light is being drained away. Faint crimson energy is streaking down toward the planet, somewhere far off, and the sunlight is fading moment by moment. Once they're in the trees, the light dims even further, leaving them vaguely outlined in the gloom. Overhead, the sun has weakened to a red glow.

Ben looks cold and shaken in the dim light. "They're powering the weapon up," he says numbly. "The base. The Resistance base."

"We have to go," Rey says urgently, tugging on his big hands. "Ben, we have to find the Falcon."

"Which way is it?" Ben asks, and they look around, realizing they've become disoriented inside, and now have no idea where the ship is.

"I'll call Han." _Comlink!_ Rey raises her wrist to her mouth, but nothing comes through but static and interference. "Something's wrong."

"The radiation from the weapon. It's knocking out the comms." Ben sits heavily on a fallen log, his bare feet pale shapes against the snow. "Your beacon should work. They'll find us."

"If they—" Rey's mind keeps flashing back to High Command. "Ben—they told me nobody was going to come for me if I failed. If I didn't—they said I was on my _own—_ " Her voice breaks.

"You're not going to be on your own," he says firmly, and reaches his hand out to her. "Rey. You're not alone."

The last remnants of the sun drains out of the sky, leaving them in the cold dark. Fighting back tears, Rey reaches out to him, her fingers curling around his palm as she lets him pull her down on the log next to him. "We just have to stay put," he says, shivering. "Dad's coming. It'll be all right."

Something occurs to Rey, then, that she hadn't thought of before. "Ben…when a planet's sun goes out, how long does the planet have before it becomes too cold to live on?"

"A few hours," he tells her, after mulling it over. "Don't worry about it. Someone will pick us up. I just wish we'd dropped by the canteen or something. I haven't eaten in—a while."

"Oh!" Rey digs into her bag. "I have food for you—I completely forgot, here!" She shoves the packet of fried tip-yip into his hands. It's not warm anymore, but his eyes widen and he rips the plastwrap open, devouring it like he's starving. It's only a few moments before it's gone, and he licks the wrapper clean, then crumples it up.

"Thanks," he says. "I think that might have been the one time in my life I was ever as hungry as you."

Rey scrunches her nose up. "Shove off," she says, grinning in spite of herself. "Oh, and I have this." Her fingers curl around the hilt of his saber, and she hands it to him. "Luke says hello."

Ben looks shocked. "I thought they'd taken it off me…" His large, blunt fingers curl around the heft of it and lift it away from her palm, and she can sense exactly how strong he is: able to wield this massive thing like it's nothing. "Thank you," he breathes, and clutches it to his chest.

"I could sense it was yours, you know," she tells him. "Luke said it was—a Force signature."

"Mmm," Ben says, looking at her sideways. "Yes. That's—a thing, that exists."

"I—" She cuts herself off, frowning. A sound has interrupted them: a faint sound, and a distant one, but it's vaguely odd, and Ben gets to his feet immediately, hunched forward as if he's listening intently. "Ben? What—"

"Come with me," he snarls, and she has no time to ask what's wrong before he's got her by the arm, limping with her in tow through the woods. His fear is palpable through the Force: even to her untrained mind—a miasma of terror surrounding him like fuel fumes on a recently-crashed ship.

They emerge into a clearing, a small open area void of trees. The snow is blue in the starlight, awash with strange shadows, and Rey feels a shudder run up her back. "Ben—"

"Stay here," he says urgently, turning to her. "You understand me? Stay here, and keep out of sight."

"What—what's—" Rey's too frightened to think. "You're leaving me here? Don't leave me here. Ben. You promised. You _promised_ —" Her thoughts race like frantic sand-rats: _promised he wouldn't go everyone always goes leaves me alone leaving me—_

 _­_ Ben cups her chin in his freezing hand. "I'm coming back for you, sweetheart," he whispers, and she gapes up at him, uncomprehending. "I promise."

_I'm coming back for you sweetheart I promise_

Visions, vision in the snow, visions of the past and of the future; she remembers the six dark figures, hooded and cloaked.

In the snow.

In the forest.

In the dark.

"Who are they?" she whispers, and the snow falling around her seems to whirl in the air, listening. The forest has gone silent. "Ben, who _are_ they?"

He does not answer her for a moment, or ask what she means. He only looks at her, one eye gone black in the dim light and the other white as a moon, and his hand leaves her face before he whispers, " The Jedi-Killers," and just like that he's gone, stumbling back into the trees, disappearing between the dark trunks and branches.

*

"Damn radiation," mutters Han, flipping the switches at the comms station. "Chewie, get us off the ground. We might as well start shooting at some TIE fighters if we're here."

Poe, his feet jammed into warm socks, rounds the corner. He's just used the fresher: his hair is damp and he's clean and wearing fresh clothes, bacta patches stuck on his face. "I can man the gunner's station," he offers eagerly.

"You can sit your ass down _now_ before you fall down, kid," Han tells him, brandishing a finger. "How's Finn?"

"Still in the fresher." Poe sits on the curved dejarik bench, for lack of anything else to do.

"Good. How're you?"

Poe sighs and slumps back against the sofa's back, looking more exhausted than any healthy young man has a right to be. "Tired," he admits. "Glad to be out of there."

"I'd take you back to base, but they're insisting that all personnel stay in the field. It looks like they might be the next target for the weapon, so everyone who isn't crucial to the bombing run is in the middle of an evacuation." Han turns and eyes the pilot up. "There's food in the galley. I restocked it before I left. Eat something while you can. Day's not over yet."

Poe nods and heads off to the galley, around the corridor and through the tight space between the fresher and the door. He opens the cooling unit and yanks out a container of what looks like some kind of mushroom-and-nerf stir fry, and starts shoveling it down with a vengeance. His belly cramps, and he reaches for a carafe of milk, getting that into him too, because he's pretty sure he's dehydrated, and it's so _sweet_ and _cold_.

"You're gonna make yourself sick. Cut that out."

Poe chokes on the milk, sets it down, and turns to see Finn, looking at him accusingly and wearing a towel. Only a towel. He's still damp from the shower, and, okay, look, Poe hasn't ever really considered himself to be someone with time for extensive sexual activity in between flights and missions (because, let's face it, half of those rumors just bank off the Hotshot Pilot stereotype) but he finds himself automatically calculating how soon Han might come back here looking if he just—

If they just—

"Poe," says Finn, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "Swallow."

Poe's face flushes with heat before he realizes Finn's talking about the mouthful of mushrooms and meat stuffed into his cheeks, and he gulps it down. "Sorry," he says hoarsely, and wishes his voice was stronger. "Um. You—did you want to eat?"

"Sure, if you left anything." Finn crosses over, the towel tucked firmly around his hips, and Poe stands aside as much as he can to let him crouch and peer into the fridge. His back is well-muscled, the skin smooth and even, and there is no way, no _way_ that Poe should be thinking the kind of thoughts he's thinking, because for Force's sake, they're about to be in the middle of a bombing run and this is not the _time_ —

Finn stands, one hand holding a container of some kind of mixed greens and the other holding a flatbread pocket stuffed full of cheese and meat. "You look kinda pale," he says, frowning. "Do you need to sit down?"

"No," says Poe, and closes his eyes. He shouldn't have eaten that food so fast. He really, really shouldn't...

Finn manages to grab him by the arm and march him the meter to the fresher door and over the commode before he throws up, and stays there, patting him on the back and breathing through his nose and mouth loudly. "There we go," he says, fighting a sympathetic gag as Poe's body wracks again and more wet noises emerge from the commode. "It's fine. We'll get you some toast or something. Something light. And I won't say I told you so."

Poe groans and leans away from the commode, flushing it. "I'm so sorry," he rasps. "You must think I'm useless."

"You?" Finn scoffs and squats down. "No way. _I'm_ the useless one. I don't even really belong here, you know. I'm a defected—defective—" He blinks rapidly, looking away from Poe, and Poe feels a surge of sympathy for him. "Sorry," he says. "You're—you know, the big shot handsome pilot hero. I'm—I'm not really—"

"Handsome, huh?" Poe says, half a grin blooming on his face to match the warmth spreading in his chest.

Finn's hand comes up to cover his mouth, his eyes wide. "Oh, Sithspit. No. I didn't—I did _not_ just say that, did I? Out loud?"

"You sure did," Poe tells him. "Gotta say, I'm flattered. Not something you normally hear after tossing your guts into a fresher."

"I—I—" Finn's flustered, and Poe could swear there's a blush on his dark cheeks. "I don't. I—there isn't—it's not—"

"Finn, buddy. It's okay," says Poe, almost feeling bad for teasing him. "Really. Let me just get out of your hair and wash my mouth out—"

The next thing he knows, Finn's leaning in, the heat of his body surrounding him, and his mouth is pressed to Poe's cheek, just at the corner of his mouth. Poe freezes, and it's like time has stopped: the other man's warm lips are unbelievably soft and timid. Only the distasteful bitterness hanging in his mouth stops him from turning to return the gesture, but he leans in regardless, one hand pressing flat to Finn's cheek as gently as he can.

Finn pulls back, eyes wide and frightened. "I—uh, I didn't know if—"

"No," says Poe urgently, hand still lingering on his face. "No, it's okay. It's—definitely okay. I just…" He lets his voice trail off, and chuckles, looking down as Finn's face smoothes out into relief. "Hell of a time to get a kiss, though."

"I'll just, uh, let you—get around you. I mean, I'll let you— _I'll_ get around you and let you clean up," Finn finishes, flustered.

"Right." Poe leans back and lets go of Finn, letting him stand up, and in such close quarters _that_ brings his face close to a particular part of the man's anatomy that he definitely, definitely has _not_ been thinking about. "And we'd better be back in the hold before Han decides to engage."

"Oh, right," says Finn, looking stricken. "I almost forgot about that."

"Funny how that works, huh?" Poe jokes, and watches the other man leave before he sticks his mouth under the faucet.

*

There have been many times that Rey has been frightened. As a child, it was by the shadows and groans of her makeshift home, or Unkar Plutt's rages. As she grew older, she'd managed to tamp it down, control it, smooth it over with false veneers and pretend everything was all right, but it had still simmered beneath her surface, black and sucking.

Now, though? She's alone, in a forest of trees, snow on the ground. It's utterly silent, except for the faint rumbling of distant explosions, and the one person she had begun to trust has lurched off into the snow and disappeared, leaving her alone with only a blaster and an ancient saber she barely knows how to use for protection.

Fear threatens to swallow her whole, where she huddles beside the snowy log, clutching her blaster between her knees and her heart. She's trying very, very hard not to cry, because Ben said to be quiet, but tears are seeping out of her lashes anyway, cold as ice on her cheeks.

"He's coming back," she whimpers, to herself as quietly as she can. "He's coming back. He has to. He promised. He promised."

The snow falls, flakes casting up and whirling about in the wind, and there is only her heart, pounding in her ears, and the whisper of the trees.

*

Ben drags himself through the snow, one hand clutching his side. Draw them off, get them away from Rey: that's his first mission. Isolate and pick them off. He knows how the Knights operate: he's fought them before and he knew he'd fight them again. He just hadn't thought the day would come this soon. Seven. There had been seven of them.

After Corellia, after him, they numbered six.

He can hear the faint crackle of vibroblades, humming in the snowy air somewhere behind him. The Force tingles up his spine in harmony with it: singing of danger, singing of death.

 _Get into cover,_ Ben thinks, and sucks in a painful breath of air as he legs it up into the trees. His face is throbbing, and his left eye is swollen into a slit through which he can barely see. The Force could be used to wipe away his pain and his injuries permanently, he knows, but he's never been a great student of Force-healing. He stops by a thick, gnarled pine, catching his breath, and that's when he hears it. Or rather, he senses it: a whisper in the Force, curling around his mind, a suggestion:

_Come and play, little Solo._

He's just turned around, scanning the trees, when the Force screams _danger!_ and a scarlet bolt of energy screams in harmony through the trees, aiming for his gut. Only a quick spin to the side and a frantic, half-formed shield keeps him from being killed, and the bolt sears into his left side, cauterizing flesh and burning through his shirt. The force of it knocks him to the ground, and he rolls back up, one hand pressed to his side, gritting his teeth in agony.

The Jedi-Killers have a myriad of weapons: bowcaster, blaster rifle, vibro-swords; mace, whip, pike. They have a multitude of ways to draw out Jedi: a hundred different ways to kill.

They do not, however, have lightsabers.

Ben gets to his feet, bleeding into the snow, ignites his saber, and waits. Cobalt light soaks the snow.

From out of the trees, gliding like silent shadows, the Jedi-Killers emerge, masked and cloaked in black, black, black.

Ben raises his saber in a silent salute, and they charge as one.

*

Finn, ensconced in the gunner's station, holds on tight as Han lifts off and makes for the skirmish happening at the main reactor of Starkiller Base.

This day is going _so much more_ differently than he had thought. Poe is currently tucked up in the sickbay, grousing about not being more useful and covered in bacta patches. Finn feels sympathetic for the man: by all rights he should be out there leading the bombing run on the base.

But he really can't deny that he's thrilled to be participating in Poe's stead.

He's also thrilled his advance went over even better than he'd hoped—but that has to be tucked away for later: no time to think about it now.

"All right, kid," says Han Solo's gravelly tones through the headset. "Coming up on the oscillator. You point, you target, and you fire at will. Got it?"

"Got it!" Finn swivels the chair and peers out the viewport. The oscillator stretches out beneath them, vast and gray and dark, and he can see X-wings spinning and firing at squadrons of TIE fighters, bursting into fireballs and plummeting toward the planet's surface.

He never thought he'd be on this end of a firefight, but he supposes he can't be choosy. Finn takes aim, waits for the targeting system to flash green, and fires as the Falcon spins headlong into the fray, the roar of battle soaring through his blood.

*

Rey doesn't know how long it took her to get to her feet. She doesn't know if she can hear the sounds of fighting in the distance or if it's the wind playing tricks on her frantic ears, but she knows one thing for sure: Ben is injured already, and it's not fair for him to fight alone.

 _I have to help_ , she thinks, frozen in place. Her feet have other ideas: they can't move, stuck in the snow.

Far away, off in the forest, she hears a faint hum, a whir of something slicing the air. Rey holds her breath and listens again, waiting. She hears it again, unmistakable, only meters away, and with it, a hoarse cry of pain.

She knows the voice. It's Ben.

"Go," she pants to herself, tears freezing on her cheeks. "Go, you coward. _Go_."

One step a at a time, she forces her feet to move, and slogs through the snow step by step, clinging to her blaster as if it's her lifeline to safety. _Help,_ she thinks. _Help, you have to help. Do something._

Step by step. Breathe, listen, step, breathe. She trudges through the forest, shaking from head to toe. Once or twice she stumbles on a fallen branch, hidden by the snow, but she gets back to her feet and carries on, step by step.

Rey sees blue light flashing through the trees, a steady, constant glow. She crashes through the bracken and into a small clearing, stopping short at the sight that meets her eyes.

Ben is hunched over like a cornered animal, his hair plastered to his forehead, his blue saber gleaming in his hand as he turns and whirls and leaps and blocks and parries. Rey's heart leaps into her throat: he's fighting off helmeted warriors carrying pikes and vibroblades and maces that can only be the Jedi-Killers, and at every turn she's sure he'll be killed, but it's like watching a deadly dance. Their feet never falter; their motions are never anything but fluid and smooth: Ben is the foil to their movement, all the grace of a drunk bantha, moving like a desperate predator and just escaping death at every turn.

A vibroblade darts forward and cuts him, deep in the meat of his shoulder. Ben shouts, turning away, and stumbles.

" _Ben!_ " Rey screams, thoughtless and panicked. She raises her blaster and fires, but one of them turns, flicking at her as if she's an annoying insect, and she's jerked off her feet as if by invisible strings, sailing through the air with a scream before her body slams back-first into the trunk of a large tree, ten feet off the ground.

She falls. She lands in the snow, and she does not rise.

*

" _Rey!"_ Ben bellows, and staggers to her side. The Knights let him go, watching, surrounding. He drops to his knees, raises her head, clings to her face. There is nothing but the pain, the pain, the awful pain. He cannot lose her. "Rey— _please_ , Rey, no, no, _no_ —"

"Up," commands one of them, voice masked and modulated. "Jedi scum. Face your destiny."

Ben sucks in a breath. Rey's face is motionless and there is nothing he can do for her. Nothing—except fight, and win. He drags a breath into his burning lungs and picks his saber up, turning toward them.

They are waiting. They have their own rules, their own honor code: they do not attack from behind, as they revel in facing their enemy, looking their conquests in the face when they kill. Two of them are Force-sensitive: Ben knows this from Corellia. So then: he must channel the Force, in any way he can, and switch to an offensive style, if there's to be any hope of getting out of here with Rey alive. He reaches out with the Force, and ignites his saber, a brilliant spear of cobalt, and squares his shoulders as the Force fills him, strengthens him, temporarily wipes away his fatigue and pain and fear.

Ben Solo attacks, and the Knights converge.

He parries, blocks, and lunges, managing to nick one of them in the arm: another swings at his head with a whip, and he neatly dodges the red glow. A suggestion through the Force, gravity changed, and the whip is burning through its wielder's robes. A muffled cry goes up from behind the mask, but Ben does not bother: he can sense all six of them, their Force-signatures spilling from them like sluggish mud, stale and brackish. Two are bright, clear: ozone and something like winter, cold air, sharp and colorless.

He drives his blade into the fallen Knight. The Knight collapses, whip burned out, and Ben turns away from the body, facing the rest.

Five. Five now. _I can do this._

Another Knight, enraged, attacks from the right with a pike, and he parries, swings, kicks his bare foot into the black-swathed chest, but he's too slow, a quarter of a second too slow—another pins him, backs him into a tree, holds the burning edge of the vibroblade to Ben's left shoulder.

Biting, searing energy eats greedily into flesh.

Ben screams.

He screams, and screams, and screams: pain flares down his arm and into the rest of his body as his nervous system goes into overdrive, and he gathers all his strength and shoves the Knight off, sending the warrior sprawling into the snow, inky blot on the white ground. He pauses and gasps for air, focused on the snow with his hand clutching his shoulder.

However, Ben Solo has made one mistake. In all the commotion, he's allowed himself to be distracted by the pain and forgotten about the other four threats.

He never sees it coming. An electropike rips up his left breast, his throat, and his face, opening his skin from nipple to eye, and Ben goes down, convulsing and half-conscious in agony as his flayed-open face gushes blood, hot and wet, into the snow around him. His saber leaves his hand, and falls ten feet away, stuck into a snowdrift. He can see it, out of reach, protruding at a drunken angle.

The snow is cold. It's soft, and crunchy, and soothes the pain, and Ben thinks: _I could die here. That would be all right._ He can just make out the Knights, converging on him. He can't move, the shocks still rippling up his body, and that's when a spear of glowing, sky-blue light bursts to life somewhere behind the Jedi-Killers, casting a pale glow across the snow.

At first, Ben dazedly thinks the sun has come back to them: miraculously returned, casting light and warmth across the planet's surface—but the light on his face is heatless, and when one of the Knights steps aside to face the source, it's only then that he realizes—

_Rey._

She's standing at the treeline, his grandfather's silver saber sprouting from her fists as she stands, waiting: fear roils off her like a stink in the Force, but her jaw is set and her footing is solid. He tries in vain to get up, to move, to force himself to his feet, but he can't move.

"Little one," says the closest Knight, "we have no quarrel with you."

"Get _away_ from him," she spits, eyes bright.

The rest of them slide into position, weapons at the ready. "You challenge _us_?" demands one, incredulity barely masked by the modulated voice.

For answer, she lets out a furious scream, and lunges for them, saber singing.

Ben can't shout a warning, can't scream for her to stop: he can only reach a scrabbling hand out into the snow as she flings herself into the midst of them. _She's going to die. They're going to kill her, it'll be all over—_

But…they don't kill her. In fact, they seem taken off guard by the ferocity of her onslaught, and one actually staggers as she forces him away. She dodges a stroke, and another, and another, and Ben can sense her in the Force: unstable and untrained, wavering like a fire in a breeze, smoke and sweetness and dust after rain.

She executes a backhanded parry and stab that he'd thought _he'd_ perfected, and drops to one knee to dodge a stroke aimed at taking off her head. Their strokes are savage and unchecked, and she somehow survives it, knocking one away and dodging and weaving like she's had years of experience.

That's when Ben realizes two things at one: that first, they had been fighting to take him alive, and secondly, that they're not fighting to take _her_ alive, they're fighting to kill or maim.

 _Get up,_ he thinks. _Get up._ But his body is battered and broken, and all he can do is roll to his side, gasping as he slowly crawls to reach his saber and leaving a trail of blood, crimson staining the snow.

*

Rey's never been this terrified in her life, but little by little the fear recedes as she fights.

She has no kriffing idea _how_ she knows how to do all the things she is doing: the quick and brutal movements are suited to someone larger and more powerfully built than she is, but they work anyway, and she somehow knows how to make up for whatever is lacking.

In and out, in and out in a breathless dance, left and right, forward and back. She can sense where the Jedi-Killers will be, where they will step, and moves accordingly a half second prior: it's like being in a dream. In a nightmare, rather, one that she doesn't realize is a dream, but one she's had before.

The planet shakes beneath their feet, and Rey stumbles sideways, caught off guard. The next thing she knows, the blunt end of a pike has punched her in the head, and she tumbles, stunned, to the snow, gasping in pain. Sparks fly in all directions, all colors: she shakes her head and tries to clear it. Her saber is five feet away, dusted with snow.

"Little jumping sand-rat," snarls one of the Jedi-Killers, somewhere behind her. "The Supreme Leader wants the Solo boy _alive_. Shall we kill him and take you to our master instead?"

Rey reaches forward on all fours, her fingers numb. If she could just reach her saber…

There's a choked gasp from behind her. She grips the saber, rolls over, and sees a spear of sapphire light sprouting from the Knight's chest, back to front. His body is thrown to the side, and she gapes up in shock.

Ben Solo is standing there: disheveled, covered in blood and looking like death, but _alive_ , and he's reaching out his hand to her. The Force is singing around him, his body humming with energy drawn from some outside source.

Rey takes it, and lets him stand her on her feet. He looks at her, his visible eye gone black in the dark, and she looks at him, and without a word she turns to face the remaining Knights.

Back to back, they slip into the fray.


	9. quake in frigid purgatorial fires

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The response comes through almost instantly, and it's D'Acy. "Han, get out of there! The whole place is unstable and going to blow!"
> 
> "Then we'll see you in hell!" barks Han before thumbing off the switch, and wrenches the Falcon into a dive, speeding toward the surface, webbed with lines of fire like a cracked pot ready to shatter.

"That is my _nephew_ out there," snaps Luke Skywalker. "What are you _doing_?"

D'Acy shakes her head, eyes steely. "We had to act, Master Skywalker. Any longer and the window of opportunity would have closed. The weapon is locked onto our system _right now_."

The Jedi Master is as angry as they've ever seen him—which isn't often, owing to both the nature of Jedi and the nature of Luke Skywalker. He turns and focuses on the communications bank, watching as several petty officers speak in low voices into their headsets. "Any updates?" he asks.

"Sir, Captain Solo's just come in," says a young woman, facing him with wide eyes. "He says that Dameron and Finn are in his custody and he's decided to engage in the run on the base. And—" She listens intently for a moment. "And he says he's got a homing beacon set on Rey and he'll pick her up as soon as it pings. Interference from the weapon knocked their comms out, but she confirmed she's extracted Ben."

Relief floods Luke's whole body. _Thank the Force_. They're not out of danger yet, but it's some small comfort, knowing his nephew is in the hands of the capable little scavenger. "Targeting system of the base is no longer locked onto our system!" shouts Connix from across the room.

A cheer goes up and D'Acy turns to the waiting orderlies. "Make sure the medical bay is stocked as well as you can get it and ready to take in any of the injured. Tell Kalonia to expect the usual."

"Yes, ma'am," say the orderlies, and scurry off as fast as they can.

"Commander!" shouts another comms officer. "Black Squadron is reporting a direct hit by Pava to the oscillator shield generators! The whole thing's going up!"

Luke Skywalker sits on a storage box, crosses his legs, tries to meditate, and waits for it all to be over.

*

Ben jerks away from a sweeping pike as the planet trembles under their feet again, cracking and splitting. He drops his saber (which isn't really his fault, his fingers are so numb he can barely feel them by now) and lunges, grappling with the Jedi-Killer hand-to-hand. He's losing his strength, and his grip on the Force is slipping: he's certain he's going to regret this once it's all over. After Corellia he'd slept for a day and a half straight. _You shouldn't use the Force to propel yourself physically through things like that,_ Uncle Luke had said, and he had said… he had said… Ben can't remember what he had said. His thoughts are disjointed, his body sluggish.

Rey is on the other side of the clearing, locked in close quarters with another. They've already killed two more together, and the third remaining Knight raises a mace, about to smash in Rey's head. She heaves back and kicks out, and only another quake of the planet's surface saves her from having her skull caved in: the angle becomes wrong and her boots slam into the Knight's neck, sending the figure backward.

Ben can't focus on Rey. Somehow the one he's grappling with has twisted around and gotten his pike wedged against Ben's throat, and now he can't breathe, rasping breaths choking out of his windpipe. _I can't lose consciousness_ , he thinks frantically, scrabbling in the snow on his knees. If he loses enough air, he'll pass out, and they'll take him: he can sense the intention in the mind of the Knight who has him forced down to the snow. They'll take him to— _Snoke_ , is the name—and—and—

"Ben!" screams a voice, and Rey is somehow free, the last two Knights in heaps of black beside her. She is standing free, and she flings him Anakin Skywalker's lightsaber.

He does not know how he manages to catch it. All he knows is that it's in his hand, solid and warm, and the next thing he knows, he's thumbed the ignition switch without looking away from Rey once.

The blade activates straight through the eye-hole of the black mask behind his head, and the Knight's grip loosens, then falls away. Ben sucks in air and gets to his feet on shaking legs, saber hilt clutched in his hand, as Rey races across the expanse of snow to reach him. He can see she's found his dropped saber, and her hands look so small clinging to it: she looks so frightened, so relieved that he's alive. Ben opens his arms.

She's only a meter away when the earth splits under their feet and a fiery chasm opens between them, the tectonic plates of the planet spreading apart. Trees collapse, burst into flame, and disappear into the heart of the planet as the crack widens to two meters, then three, then five. Rey catches herself and staggers back, away from the edge.

Ben's on one side, and Rey's on the other.

"Rey!" he shouts, his hand pressed to his side. " _Rey_!"

"Ben!" she screams, and her hands are reaching out to him. She's only five meters away: surely he can make that if he jumps. He turns, backing up and limping as he goes, and faces her, locked onto her tiny face as he tries his hardest to calm himself, to think, to breathe.

_The Force is with me, and I am one with the Force._

Breathing. In, out. What is it, but an exchange of gases to facilitate life? Life, and death: it is all in the Force, and it does not matter. All is as the Force wills it.

_I am not afraid to die._

Ben Solo takes a hobbling start, breaks into a run, and leaps.

The crack widens, impossibly far, as he's midair, and he misses the edge by a foot, tumbling down past the lip of the crack into the boiling core of the planet and vanishing from Rey's sight.

*

"Got them!" Poe shouts, hunched over the communications array in the Falcon's cockpit. Despite Han's grousing about how he should be resting, he'd shoved his way in to help. "They're south of here, ten klicks." Below them, a steady, measured chain explosion is tearing apart the oscillator.

"Good eyes, kid," says Han, and they peel off from the fleet. He grabs the comm. "This is Captain Solo. I'm retrieving my son and Rey from the surface."

The response comes through almost instantly, and it's D'Acy. " _Han, get out of there! The whole place is unstable and going to blow!"_

"Then we'll see you in hell!" barks Han before thumbing off the switch, and wrenches the Falcon into a dive, speeding toward the surface, webbed with lines of fire like a cracked pot ready to shatter.

*

Rey crawls to the edge of the crack and peers down over into the chasm. Heat bakes her face, evaporating the tears from her cheeks, and Ben is somehow clinging to the crumbling bedrock three feet below her, looking up from his precarious perch.

She flings out her right hand, fingers extended. "Grab on!" she shouts frantically. "Ben, _reach_!"

Ben lets go of the rock with his right hand—he stretches up—

Their fingers just brush, and another tremor shakes the earth. His footholds crumble, and he goes sliding down, down into the chasm.

 _"No!!!"_ Rey flings out her hand, blindly reaching with everything within her, and something—

Something _obeys._

Ben Solo stops falling, then comes back up, defying gravity and dragged by the Force. Rey isn't gentle about it: his face and shoulders bash into burning bedrock and send fragments flying, but the moment he comes close enough to grab, she seizes him by the shirt and hauls him over the edge, up into the snow.

"Rey," he says, trembling. He can't walk: he crawls, so they crawl together, away from the terrible edge. Nowhere is safe, of course: the planet will collapse in minutes, if not sooner than that, but it's an instinctual move, not a logical one. They fall down in the soft snow, clinging to each other, and Ben reaches up to brush tears off her cheek as she sits up beside him. "It's okay," he says, shaking his head. "I'm not afraid to die. Not if you're here."

"I tried," she sobs, shaking her head. "I tried so hard, Ben." _It wasn't enough. We're going to die together._

"You did," he agrees. "You did. You defeated the Jedi-Killers with me. They'll never—" He coughs, blood staining his lips. "They'll never kill again. You asked me once—how I got my bloodstripes."

"Yeah?" Rey tucks her knees to her chest and strokes his hair out of his face. "You never told me."

"I killed one of them on Corellia." His good eye flutters shut. The blood on his face is congealed by now, sticky and dark. "One. Rey…" He takes a breath, and his good eye closes, his body gone limp and still.

Rey bends over his chest, listening frantically to his breathing as tears run down her face. "Ben," she begs. "Please, no." She can't hear a heartbeat. She doesn't care that the planet is shaking apart below her feet, or that the trees are falling: there is only the man in the snow, bleeding, and her tears. "Ben, wake up! _Ben!"_

Light pierces the trees, and she looks up, tear-stained and stunned, to see the Millennium Falcon descending, hovering above the trees. "Han…?" she says faintly, not comprehending, and that's when a Wookiee smashes through the trees, howling frantically. She lets herself be taken up in a furry, huge arm, and clings to Chewbacca and their sabers.

One jump, and Chewie is scrambling up the ramp, Ben slung over his shoulder like a sack of so much flour. Rey slips off the Wookiee and tumbles to the floor of the hold as the ramp shuts and a dark-haired, man in socks appears from the corridor, disheveled and covered in bacta patches. "You must be Rey—"

"Who—" She's so disoriented that she can barely speak before the man is reaching for Ben, who's slipping deadweight off Chewbacca's shoulder. "Be careful!" she shouts, and darts forward, helping him.

Chewie barks something Rey translates roughly as _get him to the sickbay_ , before storming back up to the cockpit, yowling at Han about how _your cub is on board, let's go!_

"I'm Poe," says the man, and lifts Ben by one arm. "Help me get him up."

"Right," says Rey, and quickly shoves herself under Ben's other arm, lifting him up and dragging him toward the sickbay, which consists of a niche in the hull and several medkits. They lay him out (with some difficulty, since he's not quite small enough to fit comfortably inside the berth) and Poe starts quickly plastering his battered and burned face in bacta patches. They're light green on his skin, and Rey thinks absently of Takodana, the trees, the lake…

Finn appears, face creased in concern, from the other corridor. "Rey! Ben! You're all right?" He comes to a halt by Ben's knees, crowding in to get a look. "Oh, he doesn't look great."

Rey fights back more tears. His face in full, bright light looks far worse than she'd thought, and she looks away, down at her own hands. She's barked her knuckles and there's a scratch down the back of her left hand, and she's cold and wet. A lump swells in her throat, and she shuts her eyes, unaware she's crying until a pair of hands presses a bacta patch to her forehead, just over her left eyebrow. It's cool and soothing, and Rey sniffs, blinking up at Poe's earnest face. Finn is leaning over, taking charge and clumsily putting biotape on Ben's face and chest, sticking him back into one piece, like a broken doll.

"Hey," Poe says, dark eyes flickering across her face. "You all right? Hurt anywhere else?"

"N-no," she stammers, wiping her eyes. "Thanks. He should—he—" She takes up his saber, the hilt still cold from the snow, and puts it by Ben's side. "There. Now when he wakes up—he won't—he won't think—" She sniffs loudly and wipes her running nose on the heel of her hand. "He won't be afraid," she finishes.

"He's a good guy," says Poe firmly, his hand on her shoulder. "Headstrong as a wild bantha, and kind of crazy, but good. He's gonna be all right."

As it turns out, all of them miss the conflagration of Starkiller Base. The whole planet collapses in on itself, the swallowed sun within the reactor forcing its way past the crust and blooming into a new star just as the Resistance fleet enters hyperspace and streaks away.

*

The moment they're locked onto the right coordinates, Han Solo jumps out of his seat with a barked request for Chewie to stay there and watch the controls before practically racing back into the main hold. He's not a young man anymore—hasn't been for several decades—but he makes it to his destination in record time anyway and comes to a halt at the foot of the niche into which his son has been crammed.

Poe and Finn both step back, allowing Han through. Rey doesn't move from her seat, half-curled up and wedged up into the head of the bunk. She blinks up at Han with tear-stained eyes, and he doesn't miss her little hands, both touching Ben's right shoulder lightly. "You came back for us," she says dully, as if she's not quite seeing him.

Han slips in and sits down heavily next to her, giving his son a quick once-over. Bruised and battered to hell and back, blood everywhere, some slight burns, face carved up like a roast, and plenty of swelling, but Ben's breathing, and that's more than he'd expected. "Hey, kid," he says softly, looking at Rey. "We'll be home in about ten minutes. You all right?"

"Everyone keeps asking _me_ that," she says, and her voice sounds very faint and far away, her eyes fixed on Ben.

"Here," says Finn, and reaches for the oxy-mask. He takes it down from its place on the wall, and carefully secures it to Rey's face, over her nose and mouth. "Hold that and breathe," he instructs, and she obeys mechanically, one hand clutching the mask and the other still resting on Ben's shoulder.

Poe moves off to muck around with the supply kits, and Finn gently pats Rey on the shoulder and follows him, leaving Han alone with the stunned girl and his unconscious son.

Force, but she looks young. Han thinks she can't be more than twenty, if she's even that, and next to Ben she looks about as big as a sand-rat. _You came back for us_ , she'd said, as if she was surprised, and his heart softens, just a little. Han reaches out and covers her hand, the one on Ben's shoulder, with his, and is struck by the difference: his hands are veined and old, knobbly and big, and hers are so, so small. "Hey," he says again. "You're all right. Ben's gonna be all right, too."

Her eyes find his, hazel and wet. "Is he?" she asks, muffled behind the mask.

"Yes," he says firmly, even though he's not a hundred percent on that one himself. "What the hell did he get himself into, anyway?"

Rey lets out a shaky breath and pulls the mask away from her face to speak clearly. "There were these—these Jedi-killers, and they attacked him—and I think I'm a Jedi now, maybe, 'cause I lifted him up, and I still can't _believe_ that—but anyway, we were in the snow, and they found us—"

"Whoa, slow down," says Han gruffly, half-smiling. "Why don't you tell me all about it while I check his vitals?"

So she does, from the beginning, and he listens to her slowly calm down, her voice evening out and falling into a gentle cadence as she fixes her eyes on Ben's face and never takes her hand from his shoulder.

*

They come out of lightspeed above D'Qar and land by the bunkers, the X-wings settling into their proper places and the Falcon finding the closest space possible to the entrance.

Rey descends the ramp, and it all becomes a blur: bright sunshine and green grass and frantic medical staff barking orders and loading Ben's still-limp form onto a transport (along with a protesting Poe, tucked up on the back end of the transport with his legs sticking out). The medical officers cart them away, and Rey suddenly feels like her one tether to earth is gone, and she's aimlessly wandering in the breeze.

Han takes her by the elbow, not unkindly, and she follows him along through the chattering crowd of officers and captains and lieutenants and majors until they're down in the coolly lit underground rooms, and—

She senses him before she sees him. Bright-salt-sand, pure and calm as a pool of water in the Force, and Rey opens her arms, embraces Luke Skywalker, and begins to cry.


	10. singing in mental wires

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Ben Solo becomes conscious, it's with a hoarse wail and every item in the sickbay that isn't pinned down flying to bits against the walls, and the only thing Kalonia or any of the other doctors can make out is a name, a single name, over and over again.

Ben Solo becomes aware he is alive.

It is not a quick process: there's no calm, painless waking in soft sunshine or gentle words spoken to him by a friend. Instead, he drifts into nightmares, each stranger and more disjointed than the last, and he can barely remember any of them once they've passed. He can feel instruments tugging and pulling at his body, at his face, at his insides: he feels no pain, only a suppressed sense of vague discomfort. Something is fundamentally wrong: something is missing, like a limb he didn't know he'd had, and the absence of this unknown thing screams to be corrected, to be fulfilled.

When Ben Solo becomes conscious, it's with a hoarse wail and every item in the sickbay that isn't pinned down flying to bits against the walls, and the only thing Kalonia or any of the other doctors can make out is a name, a single name, over and over again.

He does not know how long he lies there, half-blind, sobbing in terror, but suddenly he can sense the thing he did not know he had been missing: only it's not a thing at all, it's a Force-signature, and it's _her_. Sun, golden petrichor; smoke and sweet spice and rough edges, all awkward and unrefined, like coarse grain: her hand slips into his and he relaxes, quivering on the med-table as he stares into the overhead light and shuts his good eye.

Ben doesn't need to see her. He knows she's there, and that's all.

" _We're all right,_ " she says softly, and he slips back into a fitful doze, listening to her. " _We're safe. You don't need to worry, Ben."_

He drifts. He's in a snug home, on the shores of the Silver Sea in Chandrila, and Rey is smiling as she stands by the door, the wind picking up her hair as she hands his saber to him. A wild bantha plods up and speaks in the voice of his uncle, the grave tones as familiar as his own. " _I've never seen anything like this. If I didn't know better, I'd think you're bonded in the Force. I thought that was a myth."_

 _"What does that mean?"_ Rey sounds quizzical. Ben sees infinite Reys, the sort of illusion one might see between two mirrors: on and on she goes, into eternity, down the beach, into the water.

The house is a house, but it is also his father, and his father sounds disapproving as usual as the house's door opens and shuts to speak. " _Oh, let them rest, Luke. There'll be more time to work out all the mumbo-jumbo later. He's doing plenty better with her here, and that's all we need to worry about right now."_

They all go quiet then, and sometime later Ben dreams that the inside of the house is his old childhood bedroom, and he's playing with model ships, making them fly. Rey is there too, and she flies with him, and then they're inside the ships, inside the Falcon, his father gone.

The dream switches tack almost immediately. He's lying on the bed in the galley, and the stars are wheeling outside the viewport in arcs of silver and gold. He's waiting, and Rey comes toward him, dressed in her scavenging rags, smelling of the desert.

No, wait. That's not right. She needs to have her clothes off if they're going to—

_Ben._

**Please, come on. Just take your clothes off. It's late, and I'm already here. Come on, Rey. Please.**

_Ben, you know I can see this too, right?_

**Of course you can. You're here. You're with me in here.**

_It's a dream. I'm not really there._

**It's real if both of us see it. You told me that, didn't you?**

_Am I sleeping? I don't think I'm awake. But I can…_ Her hands reach out, and she caresses his face. _Funny. In here you don't look any different at all._ Coarse hands, warm hands, and he leans into her palms, dizzy with wanting her.

**Please. Tell me what to do.**

_It's your dream. You're in control._ Her hands are moving across his face, stroking his jaw with hesitant fingers. _You tell me._

He can't argue with that logic. Ben leans forward, finding her mouth with his, and she tastes like sweetness and salt and stars going supernova and everything he's ever wanted in his life. He pulls her onto him, and she presses herself to him with a soft cry bitten between her lips, the crux of her grinding down on him.

 _Right there. Don't…_ Rey rubs herself up and down him again, and he can't remember when she took off her clothes, but she's only got on a pair of pants now, and her breasts are bouncing softly. He reaches up and cups one, and she whimpers, her hips stuttering in their movement. _Don't move,_ she begs. _Oh, Ben. I thought I'd lost you._

 **Never. You'll never lose me.** He grips her thigh with his other hand, the softness of her skin and the hard muscle beneath. **Hold on. Just stay here with me.**

 _I can't…_ Her breathing is coming quick and short, her face flushed, and he knows she's going to reach climax before him and he doesn't care.

 **Just in here. Stay in here with me.** He clings to her, helping her bear down harder, and she moans, her hands on his chest. **Rey. Stay. Please.**

_I can't I can't I can't I'm I'm Ben I'm—_

The sensation of it floods him unexpectedly: it's not like any climax he's ever had. It's warm and loose and washes over him like a wave from his groin up through his spine and out to his limbs, suffusing his whole body with heat and forcing his thighs to tremble. It lasts slightly longer, too, and when he's come back to himself he realizes Rey is gone.

Ben Solo's eyes fly open, and he gasps for air. He's drenched in sweat, and there's a horribly sticky cold spot in his pants. He's lying flat on his back in a small, private medbay, and the lights are dim: it must be the middle of the night—but how long ago was Starkiller Base?

Someone's hand is in his. He looks down, and sees Rey her head pillowed on her free arm and her other hand in his, at his side.

He doesn't even think before he calls out to her in the Force.

_Rey._

She immediately jolts to full wakefulness with a strangled cry, and as she raises her head Ben can see sweat on her face, sticking her hair to her cheeks and forehead. She turns and makes eye contact with him, and both of them just stare at each other, panting, for a moment. Neither of them move their hands from where they're clasped together.

"What—time is it?" Ben ventures, trying to stay quiet.

"I—I don't—" Rey's thighs are pressed together, and he registers she's changed clothes: the shirt is sleeveless and white, crossing over her front. Sweat glimmers on her collarbone. "I think it's probably about twenty-two hundred. Everyone's asleep." Ben can't see in the light, but he's sure she's as flushed as he feels. He can sense her pulse, beating rapidly under her throat like the wings of a trapped bird.

"How long have I been here?" He tries to sit up on his elbow, but Rey shakes her head and pushes him back down.  His head is aching something fierce.

"Only about two days. Or—no, it's been a day, because you were brought in here at sixteen hundred yesterday. It just feels like it's been twice that long." Rey sighs and rubs her eyes with her free hand.

"That dream…" Ben swallows. "It…" He can't find the words. He's not sure he's actually awake.

"It was…" Rey steals a look at him. "I couldn't stay in it. I'm sorry—I lost my focus."

"I felt you, uh, lose your focus… if that's what we're calling it." Ben's head is truly pounding, and he grimaces. "Is there—water?"

"Oh. Right." Rey stands quickly and fills a fiber cup, slipping a hand under his neck and helping him drink. "So you—you felt that?"

As she lowers his head back down to the padded cot, he tilts his hips slightly, making a face at the stickiness gluing the the white garment they've put him in to his skin. "Yes. Strongly."

"Oh— _oh_ ," she says, cheeks turning red as she grasps what he's saying. "I'll clean you up. I'm so sorry—"

"It's not your fault," he says quietly as she goes for the hygiene wipes on the table by his head. "I shouldn't have asked you to—"

"I wanted to do it," she tells him, and lifts his robe up, then turns even redder, and once she starts dabbing delicately at his skin, Ben feels as embarrassed as he's ever felt in his life.

"Tell me about my injuries or something," he demands, a note of desperation in his voice that he can't quite mask.

"Right," Rey says quickly, passing over his lower abdomen with the wipe. "Um, severe laceration to your chest and face, and since they didn't get you in bacta fast enough, it's going to scar, but the good news is your, uh, eye socket fracture—"

"Orbital fracture," he corrects, straining to hold onto his sanity. She's _touching_ him, and it's real, and not in a weird Force-assisted shared dream: if he gets fully hard he's going to scare the life out of her.

"Orbital—right," she concedes, and starts wiping off his _actual_ cock, gentle and firm. There's no hope for him now, and he stares at the ceiling, desperately trying to stop it anyway. "So anyway, that got settled and most of the swelling and bruising is down—oh, and your eye, all the blood in your eye is fixed, too. Um, and all your other injuries are fixed, Kalonia just said you'd be really tired and—um, Ben?"

Ben shuts his eyes and silently begs for death. "Yeah?" he answers, voice rough.

"Your, um... it's… swelling. Is that…normal, or should I get Major Kalonia?"

Force, if she wakes up Kalonia at this hour for _this_ , he's never going to hear the end of it. "No," he says, struggling to not sound as ragged as he feels. "No, it's normal, _please_ do not get Kalonia."

"Oh. Is it…because I'm doing this?" Rey sweeps the folded wipe back up the length of him in her fist, as if she's polishing a dowel, and Ben almost chokes on his own tongue, fighting to keep from jerking up into her hand.

The words spill out like blasterfire, sharp and quick and desperate. " _Yes_ it's because you're doing that _please_ stop I thought you saw this in the _dream_ —"

"I thought it was—" Rey goes pink in the nose and doesn't finish her sentence. "I didn't know it got _bigger_ when it got all hard like that! I didn't see it! The dreams—we're always in clothes. Mostly."

A laugh huffs its way out of his chest. "Well, it does. Sorry."

"Sorry," she echoes back to him, and takes her hand away. The sudden chill hits him, and he bites into his lower lip.

"Wait," he breathes. "Wait, no come back—just lose the wipe."

Rey drops the wipe into the refuse can and leans forward over his groin. "Like… this?" She delicately traces a finger up the underside of his cock, and he can't help but let out a tiny sound. "Does it feel nice?"

"Yes," Ben tells her, trying to breathe. Her hand is warm and calloused, and he shuts his eyes. _It doesn't count as breaking my vows if I don't actually finish,_ he tell himself. _And I can't anyway, not now._ "Do the other thing you did before. With your whole hand. Please."

Rey obliges, fist pumping gently up and down, and Ben doesn't really mean to, but he moans somewhere in the back of his throat. "Like this, yeah?" she asks, watching him carefully for any reactions. "I assume this isn't against your celibacy code?"

"No," he says faintly, trying desperately to not buck up into her hand. "It's not—doesn't—"

"Rulebreaker," she scolds, tucking her tongue into the corner of her mouth. "I think you're cheating."

Ben can't even remember the last time he touched himself, _really_ touched himself; none of the occasional rule-skirting grinding against something like a stupid kid when he _has_ to find release or he'll lose it, so he knows it's not true, but her words kindle something hot and frantic in his gut, and his mouth goes dry. "You do?"

"Of course I do," Rey says, fist still moving steadily. "Was this your plan all along? Getting me to touch you because you can't touch yourself?"

Ben's hands clench into fists at his sides. "What if I said yes," he gasps, his eyes squeezed shut, "what would you s-say—" He's never been this hard in his life, and for a dizzying moment he thinks he might actually be able to come again as long as she keeps moving her hand on him; as long as she keep talking to him.

"Probably that you're the worst Jedi ever." A whine works its way out of the back of his throat, high and desperate, and she frowns, swiping at the head of him with a thumb. "You're leaking everywhere. Is that normal too?"

He can't. He _can't._ The intensity of just how badly he wants her slams into him like a meteor splitting a moon, and Ben is _terrified_ of it. "Stop," he gasps, jerking away, and thank the Force, Rey obeys, eyes flashing up to meet his as she drops her hand and sits up slightly. It's easier to think without her touching him. Ben gulps down a breath and fights the shame welling up in his throat. "I can't—I can't finish again right now," he mumbles, by way of explanation. "It's too soon."

"Sounds like a personal problem," Rey says, half a grin on her face.

"As if _you_ could," he tells her, rolling his eyes.

"I can too," she insists.

"You can _not_." Ben squints at her. The idea had never actually occurred to him, but now he's intrigued. "Can you?"

"I'll prove it," Rey says, and he can sense she's shy about this, but determined. She leans back stiffly, one hand creeping down to press flat against her groin, and with a little sigh, she starts kneading at herself, fingers rolling over, grinding and moving.

Fascinated, Ben raises his head, trying to see, and she scots the chair further into the light, allowing him a full view of the gusset of her trousers, the seam in the front rubbing against her as she moves. "Oh," he says, watching avidly. There's a faint soreness in his own body that promises an hour or so of unfulfilled discomfort, but he doesn't care. Rey is _touching herself_ in front of him, and that's all that matters.

"Here," she pants, and reaches out her free hand. He takes it unthinking, and is hit with a wave of that same warm feeling from the dream, shoulders to knees, trembling and hot and open. She's already close, and he sucks in a breath and meets her eyes with his. "Do it again," he orders, sweat to match hers beading on his forehead. "Do it. Rey. _Rey_ —"

" _Ben_ —" She shoves her knees together and moans, head down, her hand tightening on his, and he fights a cry of his own as her climax washes across him again, sweet relief from head to toe. His free hand automatically catches at his groin, but there's no fresh spend staining his robe this time. _Dry_ , he thinks, dizzy with release. It's unsettlingly similar to his first orgasm ever, before he'd hit puberty, and he lets his hand rest on his abdomen, trying to catch his breath as the sensation recedes, leaving them both panting and worn. He can smell her faintly as she moves, leaning forward to catch her breath: alkaline, earthy, half sweet and half musk.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, feeling ashamed again in the absence of the emotions that had possessed him.  "I shouldn't have…"

"Nobody has to know but you and me," says Rey, raising her head up to look at him through sweaty strands of hair.

"You do realize I have an uncle who can read minds," Ben tells her dryly, his eyes shut. His headache is gone. Small mercies. "An uncle who is constantly insisting I remind myself about every Jedi rule in the book."

"It's not like he can read minds _all_ the bloody time, is it? He couldn't read mine." Rey sags back slightly, and he can sense the tranquil warmth surrounding her, guileless and free. He envies her the peace of mind. _She_ doesn't have to follow ancient codes about celibacy.

"No," Ben admits. "And I'm good at keeping people out of my head when I want."

"There you go. We just won't tell anyone. Besides, we still have the dreams." Rey lolls her head to the side and smiles at him. "I'm not convinced all this wasn't a dream, actually."

"You and me both," Ben tells her. He wishes he could pull her up on this narrow cot and hold her to his body, let her rest her head on her chest like his mother used to do on the sofa with his father. Intimacy: he's never known how much he wanted it until it was identified, within reach, and untouchable. He'd never even thought of himself as a _sexual_ being before Rey, let alone a romantic, and he realizes he's already subconsciously divided his life into Before Rey and After Rey. It _should_ be Before the Jedi Academy and After the Jedi Academy. His life shouldn't be defined by this girl he's barely known for a week, ten years his junior. But it does, and they undeniably share some kind of bond, and it cannot be broken.

"I can hear that, you know," says Rey softly, and Ben jolts up, looking at her with wide eyes. "Not—hear it, in words, I mean. But I can sense you're thinking about me, and about your vows."

"Rey," he whispers.

"What?"

"Go to sleep."

She huffs a little laugh and scoots her chair closer. "I'm sleeping here till you wake up again."

"Is that wise, considering?" Ben cocks an eyebrow at her.

Her nose wrinkles at him and she lays her head down at his side, pillowed on her folded arms. "Go to sleep, Ben."

*

They meet again, in that place they can only find in dreams. There is a bed, waiting and ready under a rose and lilac sky littered with silver and gold stars, and they tumble into it together with their clothes on. Rey presses herself along Ben's back, wrapping her arms around his chest from behind, and sighs deeply, bringing her legs up to cup the back of his thighs: a sliver of crescent moon curling around her own shadowed dark.

 _We'll stay like this,_ she tells him, and tucks her face into the back of his neck. _I'll hold you here until we wake up._

 **Do you think this is as good as the real thing?** he asks, watching the stars in the sky.

 _Probably not. But it's as good as we can get._ She's honest. He likes that about her.

Rey presses her mouth to the skin on his back, and he feels like he might break apart into a hundred pieces with the force of how _much_ he wants, and they lie there and watch the stars, lilac and gold and rose.

*

Rey's crossing the small room to put something on a table by the foot of Ben's cot the next day, feeling remarkably refreshed, when a surge of deep pain catches her by surprise on her lower back and she winces, standing up slightly stiffly. R'iia's _ass_ , that hurts. She'd refused to take the bacta tank even though Doctor Kalonia had practically insisted, because such a luxury just didn't seem right when she knew there were plenty of pilots with injuries that needed looking after—not to mention, she'd wanted to sit by Ben the moment he'd shouted her name out, and now she's nearly regretting it. She's had worse injuries, but the aftermath of being Force-hurled into a tree is not an experience she'd care to repeat.

Snow, and darkness. _I'll come back for you, sweetheart._ It's not an endearment she'd heard before often, if at all, and at the time she'd been so afraid she'd had no time to think about it, but the term strikes a bolt of warmth into her heart: something that says _you belong_ , _you matter_. He hadn't called her it again—yet—certainly not last night in that strange haze of dreams and waking. Maybe if she asked, he'd—

Ben's caught on to her movement, and he raises his head. "You're hurt?" he asks, his brow furrowed.

"It's nothing," she tells him dismissively.

"It's not nothing. What's wrong?" The wound on his face is still stuck together with biotape, making him look like a broken mask someone tried to tape into one piece, but otherwise he looks all right, and she sighs.

"Fine, if you must know." Rey turns her back, and realizes lifting her arms over her head is not going to be on the table, so she settles for plucking at the shoulders of her loose wrap shirt with her fingers, inching the fabric up her back to expose it to him.

There's a sharp intake of breath once the fabric drifts a few inches up her skin, and something overhead breaks. It sounds expensive and is probably important, and she has half a mind to scold him. "They did that to you," he says flatly, without a question.

"Yes. But I think you killed the one who did it, so don't have a fit," she tells him, turning her head to give him a look.

He sits up, looking outraged, and one of his fists is in a white-knuckled death grip at his side. "Didn't they—didn't they put you in bacta? Or—Rey, if they didn't let you use the immersion tank because of some idiotic bureaucratic reason, I'm going to—"

"Oh, lie down, and don't you get on my back about it, too," Rey snaps, irritated. "Kalonia already had a go at me about it. I chose not to."

"What? Why?" He swings his legs off the side of the cot.

"Because other people needed it more!" she exclaims. "There are pilots out here with burns and exposure injuries, not to mention Dameron. I don't—" She bites off the word, stung by her own emotion, but Ben's in the spaces between her thoughts, as always, and tilts his head, the outrage on his face replaced by understanding.

"You think you don't deserve it," he murmurs.

"Oh, shove off," she tells him, but the words carry no real heat. "You're not a psychiatrist. And you're not supposed to be sitting up yet. Lie down and leave me alone."

"I will not," Ben says, and crooks his finger. "Come here."

Familiar warmth spreads up her thighs, completely involuntary and pooling in the cradle of her pelvis. She decides to be contrary just for the sake of it. "No," she says, narrowing her eyes at him even though there's nothing more she wants than to cross the meter and a half between them.

"Rey," he says, voice dropping a register. The skin prickles on her arms. "I am not a patient man. Come _here_ or I'll drag you here with the Force."

Now _that's_ an idea to save for another time. Rey steps forward until she's standing between his thighs, the white medical gown covering him from collarbone to knee. It's slightly too small, and snug around his upper arms. "What do you want?" She means for it to be imperative, but it comes out more like a tremulous whisper.

"Turn around," Ben says, looking up at her. His face betrays no emotion, as usual, but the muscle beneath his left eye is twitching slightly.

She turns, and he holds her firmly between his knees, then lifts her shirt up, folding it forward over her shoulders and exposing her bruised and tender back. It's a surprisingly vulnerable sensation, and she shudders.

"Don't worry," he says, and his breath ghosts across her skin, making her nape prickle. "I'll be gentle. You just have to do one thing for me."

"What's that?" she asks.

"You have to tell me you deserve decent kriffing medical care, that's what," he replies.

" _Ben_ —" She bites her lip as his thumbs trace across her skin, gliding over the bruises with just enough pressure to make her squirm but not enough to make it really hurt. His hands are impossibly big: with his fingers lightly curled around her waist his thumbs nearly touch at her spine, but the sensation of his hands on her feels _right_ , as if something has settled into place that she didn't know was knocked off its proper course. His breathing pattern changes slightly, and she lets her eyes flutter shut. "Bit close," she whispers, suddenly nervous of him. "What if someone—"

"Nobody's going to come in," Ben says roughly, his hands still slipping over her bruises. "I can sense everything going on outside that door." His fingers brush across a particularly sore place, and Rey's breath hisses past her teeth. "You know you're about a thousand different colors back here? Red and purple and blue. Untreated deep tissue bruising can cause serious issues, Rey."

"It's not the worst I've had," she manages. "I can take a lot."

"I know you can," he tells her. "I've seen you. What you can't take is the fact that you now have modern medicine available to help. So. Say it."

"Say—say what?" Rey fights a little noise as his mouth grazes past a particularly bad section by her shoulder blades.

"'I deserve to be taken care of'. That's all." Ben's hands slip softly up her ribs, testing the meager tenderness there, just barely brushing the curve of her breast at the sides where her elbows are pinning them flat. "Say it, Rey."

Rey swallows, fighting unexpected tears that prick at her eyes. "But I don't—"

"Yes, you do," he insists, and traces the subtle curve there again, and again. "You _do_ , Rey."

"You called me something in the forest," she tries, past the lump in her throat. "I'll say it if you call me that again."

"Sweetheart?" The word settles down the column of her spine and settles in her belly like honey, soft and warm. "Yes?"

"Yes," she whispers.

Ben shifts slightly, and then his lips are just touching her left shoulder, warm air soaking her skin. "You deserve to be taken care of, sweetheart."

It's too much, and Rey can't stop the flood of tears. "I—deserve—to be –t-taken _care_ of—" she stammers out between sobs, and Ben moves her around carefully and pulls her into his lap, taking care to not touch her back as she stiffly curls into his neck and cries. He's solid and huge and warm, and she wants nothing more than to stay here.

"It's all right," he says, tucking her head under his chin. "Shh. I'll get Kalonia to take you to the tank and you'll feel a lot better."

"I'm sorry," she hiccups, wiping her eyes.

"Don't be sorry." Ben pats her thigh gently, for lack of a better place. "Deep breaths, all right?"

She's mostly composed herself and she's on the way out when she turns back and dares to say, "You could call me that more often if you'd like, you know."

He snorts, but she doesn't miss the blush that spreads across his cheeks as she ducks out the door in search of Kalonia.

*

"Of _course_ I know the kid's a defected trooper," says Han to Luke, incredulous as Finn gapes up at him. "Do you think I was born yesterday?"

"Connix, can you take Finn back for his last debriefing?" Luke asks, and the officer nods and leads the other man away. "Listen, Han. We've still got to talk about Leia."

"Why else do you think I'm still hanging around?" Han demands. "Talk away."

"We received an encrypted transmission last night," Luke tells him, and Han goes very still, looking at him. "We're working on decoding it, but so far no luck. I thought I might ask Rey to take a look at it."

"Sure," says Han. "Have her take a look if you want. I think she's in medical right now with Kalonia. Why are you asking me?"

"I don't know," Luke confesses, half-smiling. "You feel like her guardian, or the closest thing to it."

"That's funny. I was thinking the same thing about you." Han grins. "She hasn't spoken a word about wanting to go back to Jakku since she got here."

"That's good." Luke brushes dust off his cloak. "I've been thinking about asking her to come with me back to the Academy. She's got potential I don't think I've ever seen before—well, power that I've seen before only once," he amends. "Still. She might get something out of it."

"Hold on," says Han, eyes narrowed. "I was thinking about asking her to come on the Falcon as crew with me."

"Crew?" Luke's eyebrows shoot up.

"She's a great pilot and a crack shot. Chewie likes her. She's got common sense and a good head on her shoulders." Han crosses his arms. "If I'm her guardian, you should clear it with me."

Luke rolls his eyes. "How about Rey decides what she wants, huh? I'm going to medical. You make sure nobody gives Finn a hard time."

"Babysitting duties," Han grumbles under his breath, but settles in by the debriefing room and waits anyway.

*

In medical, Rey's just being pulled out of the bacta tank, dripping with clear slime and making faces. Luke greets her with a "Hey, kid," and politely turns his back to give her some privacy as the orderly wipes her down and gives her a medical robe. "You all in one piece?"

"Feels like it," Rey says, coming over to him and belting her robe. "I had some pretty bad bruises on my back, and Ben made me get into the tank."

"Good for him," says Luke. "I've got something for you to look at, if you feel up to it."

"What is it?" Rey looks interested.

"We got an encrypted message. We think it's from Leia, but we're not sure, and we can't crack it."

Her face lights up. "Yes! Of course I'll take a look. Just—I'll go get dressed and meet you outside."

"Of course." He smiles at her and moves out the door. Rey's excitement at being useful is almost contagious, and Luke wonders if she might be a better fit on the Falcon after all. Being a Jedi is more about being useful when _called_ to be.

Maybe she has more in common with Ben than he thought.

*

Rey's up to her eyeballs in decrypting software in the middle of High Command when Ben walks into the room, dressed in a fresh set of Resistance-issued trousers and a clean shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbow. She lets her eyes track across his body, pretending to herself that she's checking for injuries, before going back to her work.

It's so _easy_ to forget he's a Jedi when he's dressed like everyone else.

"Luke told me about the message," he says, crouching beside her. "How's it going?"

"Hard to say," she tells him, frowning at the datascreen. "Looks like it's not genetically locked this time, though. The code I've managed to get past says we need something called an _R2-D2 input_ —what's an R2-D2?"

"Artoo?" Luke pokes his head around from the wall, looking astonished.

Rey gives him a funny look. "That's what I said. R2—"

"Wait right here," Ben says, and rushes off to join his uncle.

Rey sighs, blowing her hair out from her forehead, and leans on the console. "Nobody tells me _anything_ ," she says to the wall.

"Skywalkers," says Han, shaking his head. "You'll know when you have to know, I guess."

*

Luke and Ben return from a storage closet, accompanied by what appears to be an ancient astromech droid in faded silver and blue paint, tootling sturdily as it rumbles along. "Rey, meet Artoo," says Ben, one hand on its dome. "He belonged to my grandmother."

"Hi," says Rey, grinning at the droid. It swivels and finds her with a photoreceptor, then beeps in greeting. "Don't suppose you can tell us what this message says?"

The old droid trundles up to the console and extends a tool-arm, plugging it into the console and rotting it from side to side. Rey realizes she's holding her breath, and lets it out softly.

The console springs to life. A massive hologram spreads out over the room, eliciting gasps from the assembled Resistance commanders, and Rey backs up, trying to see what it is. Blue and white and red, green intersecting lines, glowing nebulae: she realizes what it is at the same time Ben does, and they both say, "A star map," at the same time, wide-eyed and stunned.

Luke steps forward, eyes flickering over the hologram as he takes it all in. "It's a map to her location," he whispers, looking at the lines. Han joins him, gazing up with damp eyes. "She sent us a map to find her."

"She's not coming to us?" asks Rey, confused.

"Safer this way," Han explains. "Well, Falcon's been refueled, so I'll get her engines started and head out. Someone get this map into my system. Artoo—"

"I'm coming with you," Ben says, turning to face his father.

"Ben—" Han looks exasperated. "You just got out of the medbay. I'm not taking you—"

"That's _Mom_ we're talking about—"

"Yeah, and she'll boil me alive the second she sees you—"

Luke raises a hand. "Han, I really don't think—"

"Oh, what?" Han turns on Luke. "You think because we parted on bad terms, she'll refuse to come back?"

"I didn't say that."

"No, but you're thinking it."

Ben's verging on enraged. "If you try to stop me from going to see my _own mother_ —"

Rey reaches over and touches his wrist. He immediately stills, simmering fury contained, and Luke notices instantly. "Ben," she says, oblivious to Luke's tilted head, "stop. I'm sure we can work out who's going where and when if we all just—try to be reasonable."

"Rey's right," says Luke. "In fact, maybe we should send a delegation from the Resistance. Dameron would love—"

"Of course she is," snaps Ben, and Rey can sense some old wound opening again. "Scavenging and engineering and now _peacekeeping_ , will her talents never cease?" She lets go of his arm, stung, and he looks like he instantly regrets his words, the muscles in his face twitching.

"Dele—dele _gation_ ," spits Han. "That's my _wife_ we're talking about."

" _Ex_ -wife," snarls Ben, turning on Han. "Or did you forget already?"

Han loses his temper entirely and punches Ben in the mouth. Rey backs up and away as Luke puts his head in his hands and sighs. Ben, taken off guard, crashes to the ground, wrestling furiously with his father as the pair of them kick and punch and struggle.

"Should we do something?" Rey asks Luke frantically.

"No," says Luke, shaking his head. "This has been a long time coming. Just let them sort it out."

"But Ben's just gotten out of medbay and Han's got to be seventy—"

"Then they're equally matched," Luke says, and sighs again.

Both men are screaming at each other, years of resentment boiling over, and their words overlap and muddle as Rey tries to make it out: "stupid kriffing kid—" "you lied to me about Vader, _you lied_ to me—" "—we separated because of _your stupid power struggle—_ "

"Come on," says Luke, and beckons. "We'll let them have at it for a while. Let's talk."

"I thought Jedi were supposed to _stop_ fights," says Rey, following him out.

"Yes," says Luke, "but I'm not getting between those two, not for all the enlightenment in the galaxy."


	11. when here and now cease to matter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben opens the door and takes a step into the sleeping quarters, then stops short in his tracks, gaping. Rey is on the bed, curled up on her side like a Loth-cat and wearing nothing at all, literally nothing at all, and she's looking at him.

They've been sitting in the outer hall for several minutes. The lights are dim, and the muffled sounds of arguing and fighting from the other side of the doors have faded. Nobody gives them odd looks, the older man in robes and the girl sitting alone in the corner.

"You really think I could be a Jedi?" Rey asks, looking shocked.

"Possibly. You're a little old to start training—I usually take my students when they're ten or so—but like I said, the scope of your power and the amount you've learned already…it's a good sign. You're very adaptable." Luke strokes his beard thoughtfully. "Probably why Han wants you as a crew member so much."

"Why is it a bad thing to start when you're older?" Rey has a sudden vision of herself, twice as large as the children in starting classes, and makes a face. "I mean, beyond sticking out like a sore thumb."

"Younger children can be taught to manage emotions a little better. By the time you're becoming an adult, you haven't learned the right amount of self-regulation, or of discipline—and believe me, I speak firsthand," Luke says, smiling.

"Ben seems to be struggling with that anyway," says Rey, looking down.

Luke frowns. "Yes, some people are…by way of personality, not exactly suited to discipline."

 _You could say that again,_ Rey thinks sourly. "Do you think I am? Suited to it, I mean."

"I'm not sure," he tells her. "I think… if you were to join the Academy, you and Ben might have to be separated."

"What? Why?"

"You…influence each other's emotions in a way I'm…not sure I consider being conducive to a peaceful learning environment," Luke says delicately.

Rey tries her very hardest not to blush. "You mean I piss him off," she says.

"You don't make him angry," Luke reassures her. "He has…conflicted feelings about you. He's jealous that you have power on par with his own, and that for you it seems to come naturally whereas with him it took years of training to get it under control."

"So where's the conflict?" Rey asks, gnawing her bottom lip.

Luke sighs a little and shakes his head. "He's drawn to you, like you are to him. You're inextricably connected, and I don't know why."

"I'm _not_ drawn to—" Rey begins, hot-faced and stammering, but Luke smiles and waves his hand as if to dismiss her protests.

"Oh, yes you are. Even if I couldn't use the Force, I could still see that. And I know it was hard on him before, switching to an ascetic lifestyle after being raised by a member of the Ancient Houses on one of the wealthiest ecumenopolises the galaxy's ever seen—but with you in the equation, living alongside us and being taught, he's going to struggle twice as hard with his Jedi oaths." Luke gives her a quick, appraising look. "That is, if he hasn't slipped already."

Rey presses her hands to her face, unable to stop the furious blushing. "I wouldn't know," she insists from behind her fingers.

"You're sharing dreams, right?" Luke sits back against the wall, waiting patiently.

"Yes, but—that's not—it doesn't—" Rey wants the floor to open under her. "That's _private_."

"Oh, yes," he agrees. "A Force-bond is a very private thing between two people. However, the other person in question is my student _and_ my nephew, and neither of you are trained in controlling the parameters, or blocking others from influencing the bond, or how to work out the differences between a regular dream and a—"

"I can tell the difference," she says hotly. "I did it last night. He—" Her mouth snaps shut, and she turns crimson. She can't possibly talk about this with _Luke Skywalker_ : he's practically a legend, let alone the teacher and _uncle_ of the man who she's very sure watched her rub one out last night.

"Rey," says Luke, very gently. "I understand this is awkward for you. It's all right. I just want to make sure you're both able to ward off outside influences on your bond, and I also want to make sure that my nephew doesn't stray from the path he's chosen."

"Did he really choose it, though?" she blurts out, and Luke's eyebrows rise. "Han said you took him away when he was ten years old. He was just a little boy. And maybe—maybe children can learn to regulate their emotions easier than adults, but—but if you made him swear to do something he didn't know anything about at the time—I mean, having him swear to be celibate when he's eleven is all well and good, but then people get older, you know, and they start realizing that things could be different, so how is that giving him a fair choice? People change."

Luke's mouth opens, and the doors behind them do, too, expelling Han and Ben, both looking ragged and tear-stained. "Han," he says instead. "Ben."

Rey whirls around and stares. Han is probably going to have a black eye if someone doesn't get him bacta soon, and Ben's nose and lip are bleeding. He looks at her, and embarrassment rolls off him like fog. Rey quickly averts her eyes: he hadn't wanted her to see him fight his father, and she understands why: it's private and personal.

"We've come to an agreement," Han says gruffly. "Ben and Rey here can take the Falcon. Chewie and I will stay put. Leia will—she'll be happier to see Ben than she will me, most likely, and in case there's trouble, Rey's a fine hand with a blaster."

"And a lightsaber," says Ben, still not making eye contact with Rey. "She's very skilled with a lightsaber."

Luke looks flummoxed. "All—all right," he says, hesitant. "Do you want to head to the medbay first, or—"

"The Falcon has a medbay," says Ben. "I'll patch myself up there. Just get the engines fired up and Rey and I will go."

"That's my boy," says Han, pulling him into a hug with great affection. "You tell your mother to come home, okay?"

" _Dad_ ," hisses Ben, cheeks going red. "Yes, I will, just let me get out of here." Rey stifles a grin: he's really not a hugging person at all, his arms stiffly hanging at his sides like he can't figure out how to use them as Han squeezes him.

"Right. Get a move on. Your coordinates have already been sent to the Falcon's computer." Han releases his son. "And you better bring her back without a scratch, you hear me?"

*

They've just entered hyperspace and they're settling in for nearly an hour of traveling one direction, so Rey double-checks the coordinates, flicks on the autopilot, and heads back to the main hold to see if Ben needs any help with the medical kit.

Not that, you know, it has anything to do with the fact that they're finally alone together on the ship, or the fact that she's halfway hoping he'll have his shirt off when she rounds the corner. Nothing like that. Absolutely not.

There's a soft groan from the hold, and she peeks around the corridor to see Ben, shirt pulled up to his chin and held in place, trying to put a bacta patch on a reddened bruise just out of reach on his back. It's an awkward position, and he's grunting in frustration as the shirt keeps slipping, but he won't take it off for whatever reason. With an angry huff, he tries to twist his torso, but that does something painful to his injury and he almost collapses, leaning on the back of the dejarik couch for support.

"Hey," says Rey, stepping in. "You need any help?"

"No," he spits, trying to yank his shirt up again. "Don't you have piloting to do?"

"We're in a hyperspace lane for the next hour, so no," she retorts, glaring. What crawled up _his_ backside and died?

He drops the hem of his shirt again, and crumples up the bacta patch, flinging it across the room. "Kark it," he snarls.

"Stop that," she snaps, and marches over to the medkit, yanking out a fresh patch. "You ruined a perfectly good patch. Wasteful. Hold your shirt up."

"I can do it myself—" he starts, crimson.

"No, you can't; now shut up and let me help you." Ben glares at her, but lifts his shirt up, and she presses the patch to his inflamed skin, smoothing it out. "There. Anything else hurting?"

He's silent, but sullenly nods. "Elbow to the gut, yeah. Here." He indicates with a finger, and she presses another patch down.

"And your mouth," she says, squinting at his face. "I think there's a strip of biotape in the kit."

"Rey," he says, sounding exhausted.

"What?" She comes up with the biotape and tears a piece off, then looks at him. "You'll have to open your mouth, I think the split goes to the inside—"

" _Rey_ ," he says again, gentler. "I'm trying to say I'm sorry."

"Oh." She's unexpectedly warmed by that. "Thanks. I think." He opens his mouth dutifully, and she presses the tape to the split, trying to ignore how warm and soft his lips are. "Your uncle was asking if I wanted to be a Jedi and said we'd have to be separated if I decided I wanted to be one, because apparently we influence each other's emotions too much."

"What?" Ben's mouth closes on her fingers, involuntarily, and she shivers a little. "No. Absolutely not."

"And your dad wants me to come on with him and Chewie as crew," Rey continues, pretending to adjust the tape a little just so she can keep touching him.

"What do you want to do?" he asks, and she freezes, her thumb just touching his bottom lip. "It has to be what you want. Not what anyone else wants. Don't make the same mistake I did."

"I—" Rey swallows. "I don't know." She does want one very specific thing at the moment, but it has nothing to do with any cosmic question posed to her by the universe, and far more to do with the battered man in front of her. "Stop looking at me like that."

"Like what?" Ben tilts his head, and his hungry, gentle eyes never leave her face.

"Like _that_." Rey swallows. "Luke said he didn't want you to stray from the path you chose. You're looking at me like you want to do an awful lot of straying."

"Looking at someone doesn't break the Code," he says stubbornly.

"Oh, so if I took all my clothes off right now and you just _looked,_ that's not breaking any rules?" she snaps.

Rey's definitely not prepared for his reaction. He goes pale, then flushes scarlet, and shifts his weight as if his trousers have become too small. "Would you do that?" he asks, very small and quiet. She can sense he's peeled back something, some layer uncovering vulnerability, so while her first instinct is to laugh, she decides not to.

For answer, she walks around the front of the table and shrugs off the nerfwool vest with padded shoulders she's changed into for the journey, then takes off her boots, keeping an eye on his face the whole time. Ben looks as if he's been handed the most precious thing in the universe, and both eyes are fixed on her as she shucks off her trousers and shirt, leaving her standing there in her socks and basics. She puts her hands on her hips and just looks at him. It's like he can't figure out where to look first, and he's gone beetroot-red. "Want me to take off my basics?" she prompts, and his reaction is immediate.

"Yes," he says, tight and low. "Please."

"Well, I'm not going to." Ben's hands are curling and uncurling into fists, and he keeps swallowing. She's not blind, either: there's a massive ridge in his trousers, angling along the front closure, and _that_ certainly hadn't been there when she was standing right next to him. Her nipples pebble with gooseflesh, cold in the recycled air even under her breast covering, and she fights to not cross her arms across her chest. "This is appropriate behavior for a Jedi?" she asks, and gets a tight little shake of the head in return. "No?"

"No," he manages. Then, quickly, " _Yes_. I'm technically not breaking any rules."

There's _something_ here, just below the surface, and Rey is sure if she could only unlock whatever is going on in his mind, she'll be able to get something out of it. What about the situation is making him react so strongly? Is it being restricted to only looking? No—he had reacted similarly the other night, hadn't he? Rey decides to explore it. "You're a terrible Jedi," she says.

He visibly trembles. "Am I?" he asks breathily, fingers curled into the back of the dejarik sofa.

Well, that seems to be something. "Yes, you are, you—" Rey remembers other things she'd said, and decides to try them again, too. "—you cheater. You want me to stand here five feet away from you, starkers, just so you can look, because you're not allowed to touch me?"

"Force," Ben whimpers, and his hand starts creeping into his waistband. "Rey—"

"Oh, no you don't," she scolds, pointing. "Get your hand out of there. You're forbidden."

He tears his hand away as if he's been burned. "Yes, Mast—" His ears go absolutely crimson, and he brings the back of his hand to his mouth.

"What was that?" asks Rey, slightly amused. The horrified confusion at his own behavior is curling around Ben like steam over a pot on to boil, but she's rather enjoying herself, and her own body is reacting to all this in a way she's a little surprised at, but definitely all right with.

He gulps down air and blurts out, "Master Rey," before shutting his eyes and bowing his head in mortification. "I'm—"

"My student," she finishes for him, crossing her arms. "You understand this is, um, a test. We need to see if you're, uh, as committed to the Jedi Order as you claim to be."

He whips his head up and focuses on her with sudden heat. "Yes, Master Rey. What do you ask of me?"

"You're not allowed to touch yourself," she says firmly. "And you're not allowed to touch me. You can, however, use the Force. I want you to—to bring me off," she finishes lamely, but Ben doesn't seem to care at her awkward word usage. "And I want you to come, but that shouldn't be hard, since you've barely ever touched yourself." Ben's lips part and color rushes his face, and Rey, emboldened, continues. "You'd probably come if a stiff breeze hit you. Imagine if you were actually inside someone. I think you might cry. Would you cry?"

"Yes," he whispers, hands still clenched into fists. "Yes, Master Rey." She can sense that he's aroused to the point of pain, and decides to have mercy.

"Good." She sits down on the floor, cushioned by the discarded clothing, and spreads her legs. "You can start, now."

Ben's eyes narrow, and she feels—it's like a finger, smooth and careful, sweeping up her thigh. She shivers in spite of herself, and the finger widens and spreads out to something like a warm hand, caressing her softly, up, up to the crux of her body, where her thighs join her torso, just over the thin fabric of her basics. She bites her lip as the sensation circles lightly at the top, pressing and rubbing, and begins to glide down, dipping past the fabric without moving it. It's almost hesitant, probing at her flesh, tracing the damp folds and exploring inward, inward, until the presence is just at her entrance and hovering there. She raises her head, looking at Ben, who's on his knees (and when had _that_ happened?) and sweating, clinging to his own arms, folded in as if he's desperately trying to keep from touching himself. "Can you feel this?" she asks.

"Yes," he says hoarsely, after a moment where she thinks he must have had to remind himself how to talk again. "In a way."

"Good." She angles her hips (she's no stranger to this, not since she figured out how to use her fingers) and wiggles herself forward, and that's when Ben lets out a helpless cry, hips jerking, and comes in his pants, completely untouched. The presence disappears as he loses his concentration, and Rey's left sitting there with her legs splayed open as Ben heavily falls to all fours, trembling, and a wet spot soaks through his trousers. "R'iia's ass," she says, stunned. "You weren't kidding—"

"I'm sorry," he gasps, head swinging from side to side like a stunned animal. "I'm _sorry_ , I felt it, I'm sorry—"

Rey can sense his climax, bright and hot and focused somewhere in the crux of his pelvis. "Just—just finish," she says awkwardly. "It's all right—"

There are tears in his eyes, threatening to spill over, and she can sense he's still coming. "You have to—I said—you—" Ben sucks in a breath, shaky and shuddering, and presses his hand to his stomach, his fingers twitching like he doesn't know what to do with them. "I _promised_ —"

"Don't worry about it," Rey tells him. His whole face is flushed, down to his throat. "Do you—is there a spare pair of basics you can change into?"

"In the bunk," he manages, unable to look at her. There's a heady, fuzzy sensation surrounding him in the Force, like fluffseed batting on a summer day, floating in the breeze: he's finally done, and the cloud of endorphins has kicked in.

"I'll be back in a moment," she says, wanting to give him some privacy, and snatches up her shirt, tugging the hem down to her thighs. "Just, um. Wait here."

"I need fresh pants, too," he says, sounding half-choked as he wipes his eyes with the back of his hand. "I'm sorry—"

"Stop apologizing," Rey orders. "I'll get the pants. Be right back." She heads down the corridor to the sleeping quarters and finds the small case of clothing, pulling out a spare pair of basics and trousers, then rolls them up and hurries back to the hold. Her own state of arousal hasn't quite faded, but everything between her legs feels cold and wanting. _It's all right,_ she thinks. _It's not like I was really ready for that anyway, and he certainly wasn't._

Back in the hold, Ben's sitting awkwardly against the dejarik sofa, plucking at the front of his pants. He looks up when she comes in, and flushes to the tip of his nose. "Hey," he says roughly, looking away.

"Hey," she says, tossing him the fresh clothes and leaning down to pick up her basics and discarded clothes. "Feel better?"

"No," he says shortly, and tucks the roll of clothing under his arm. "I'll be in the fresher. Be right back."

Rey watches him go down the corridor, and feels as if she's said the wrong thing entirely, though what she's _supposed_ to say in a situation like this, she has no idea. She takes a step after him, her clothes still clutched in her hands, and then another, an idea blooming in her mind.

*

 _Stupid, stupid, stupid._ Ben furiously scrubs himself clean in the tiny fresher and fights angry tears, welling up from somewhere hot and deep within him. _Stupid and weak and disgusting._

It wasn't fair. She'd been right there, ready and waiting for him beyond every single one of his wildest fantasies—he could sense her body flush with blood and heat and all of it had been for _him_ , and then he'd gone and come in his pants without even being touched the moment he'd reached out to touch her with the Force. He'd been able to sense _everything_ , and it was so _much_ : swollen slick tissues and the beat of her pulse and the way her nipples had gone hard and rough in the cold air beneath her basics, and even worse, he'd been able to sense what she was sensing, and he'd lost it.

_Impatient. Stupid._

Ben stares at himself in the mirror over the sink. The ropy scar from the Jedi-Killer's pike rips through his chest, his face, his neck: it's ugly and ragged and raised and while he wasn't much of a looker before, he's certainly not one now. He'd be lucky if Rey ever looked at him again, let alone anything else. Why would she want him after this? Ben's fingers curl around the edge of the sink. _I'm a decade older than her with the self-control of someone a decade younger than her._ He hadn't even _known_ he'd had a desire for her to control him: to pretend she was his Master— _is this what that is supposed to be like? I realize I'm attracted to someone and suddenly this all starts pouring out of me?_

He would just have to do a better job of masking it. Especially from Luke. There would be no apologizing to Rey anymore, not after she'd told him to stop: clearly she pities him now, and some bizarre part of him craves her sympathy and her pity and wants to crawl at her feet and beg for forgiveness while another part desperately rages against it.

It would do him no good to dwell on matters of his internal conflict. Maybe Luke is right: maybe separation would be best for all involved. Ben takes a deep breath and tries to center himself. Meditation. He needs an hour of meditation: he can go down to the secondary hold and sit there for a while, away from everything, away from her. Yes. That will be good.

Ben opens the door and takes a step into the sleeping quarters, then stops short in his tracks, gaping. Rey is on the bed, curled up on her side like a Loth-cat and wearing nothing at all, _literally_ nothing at all, and she's looking at him.

"Hi," she says, after a moment that stretches into eternity, during which he can do nothing but blink at her. "Is this—is this all right?"

Ben clears his throat and tries to get words past his lips. Any words. He has to say something or she'll leave, and if she leaves he'll— "Right," he says faintly, and then realizes he hasn't actually answered the question, and also that he can't remember the question. Her breasts are palm-sized, small and firm and the nipples are rosy, and he doesn't know what he wants more, to touch them or to touch her everywhere else, anywhere else; her thighs are lean and long and—"Sorry. What did you say?"

"I said, is this all right?" Rey sits up, and he realizes she's pulled her hair loose from its knots, and it's brushing her shoulders. "Me being here, I mean. We don't have to do anything—I just thought maybe, since we have an hour till the next hyperspace lane, we could…just rest. Together."

"Together," he says numbly, and suddenly there's nothing more he wants than to just be with her, to pull her body to his. "Yeah. Okay. Just—" He lifts his shirt off, ignoring the faint pain from the healing bruises, and shucks off his trousers, leaving his basics on—can't embarrass himself again. The three steps across the floor to the bed feel like an eternity, and once he reaches the bed he climbs on, settling himself carefully across it to face her on his side. He suddenly feels very inadequate: he's never shared a bed with anyone besides his parents when he was maybe three years old. "Like this?"

"Sure," she says, face very close to his.

"Can I—" He swallows, and justifies it to himself yet again: _it doesn't count if I don't actually do anything with her._ "Can I hold you?"

Her eyes find his, sparkling. "Yes. Please."

Ben reaches out and wraps his right arm around her left shoulder, and is struck by how warm she is, and by how small she seems. He pulls her in close, until her chest is pressed to his, and she tucks her head under his chin, her warm breath spreading in little puffs across his collarbones. It's so, so much better than the dreams. She's warm and real and her hands are tucked up awkwardly under her chin, pressed against his chest. He's almost afraid to breathe, but touching her feels…. _right_ , as if he's connected in some unbreakable way to the entire universe: as if something's clicked into place that he didn't know was misaligned. "This is—nice," he says haltingly.

"Mmm." Rey sighs, another gust of warm air drifting over his skin. "You're big." Her free hand trails softly over the scar on the right side of his chest, and he shuts his eyes. "Does it hurt?"

"Not anymore," Ben tells her.

Her fingers trail up, and she cranes her neck a little to look as she traces the scar all the way up to his cheek. "Good," she says simply, and lets her hand fall away, moving closer and sighing. "I don't think I've ever been held like this before."

Ben lets his hand trace the curve of her shoulder and upper back, the muscle and skin there, firm and warm. "Me either. I mean, being held, or held someone."

She giggles and wraps an arm around his waist. "There. Now I'm holding you."

"You are," he agrees, and tucks her head under his chin. His left arm is falling asleep, but he doesn't care. "Go to sleep. I'll take care of the navigation and I'll wake you up when we get there."

*

Rey wakes, bleary-eyed and grouchy, to find herself covered with a blanket and Ben leaning over her with a cup of hot caf from the galley, dressed and ready to go. "Hey," he says, offering a slight smile. "We're making planetfall in twenty. Better get some clothes on if you want to meet my mom."

"Oh, kark me," says Rey, and gulps the caf down. "How long was I asleep?"

"Couple hours. Figured you needed it. Space travel can mess with your internal clock like you wouldn't believe," he tells her. "Meet you in the cockpit."

"Sure," she says, and watches him go before slipping out of bed and tugging her clothes back on. She feels rested, but groggy, and the caf seems to help a little as she moves around. _Couple hours._ Had he poked his head in to check on her? He'd certainly put the blanket on her, and he'd made her caf. She smiles to herself a little, pulling her boots on.

The corridor is empty, and he's in the cockpit when she reaches it and sits down in the copilot's seat, buckling herself in. The planet in front of them is blue and white, clouds scudding across the atmosphere. "What's this one called?" she asks, pulling up the navigational computer in interest.

"Ahch-To," he says, glancing over at her. "Mostly water, plenty of archipelagoes."

"What's an archipal—pel—"

"It's just a name for island chains," he explains, guiding the Falcon through the clouds. "A cluster of islands is called an archipelago."

"I see them!" Rey leans forward, enthralled, and watches as Ben dips below the cloud cover, exposing a glittering, deep blue sea and gray-green islands jutting from the water. "I see the islands!"

_I see the island._

_Water, blue and deep, and in the middle—_

She turns to Ben, unsettled, and he's felt it too, giving her an odd, quick look before turning his attention to the controls again. "The map says…this one, just ahead."

Rey sits quietly, trying to parse out her feelings as the largest island on the chain comes into view. It _is_ the island: the one she's always imagined at night. It's real, and she's here—but why? And how?

Ben brings the Falcon to a gentle landing on an outcropping of flat rock overlooking the sea, and shrugs on a jacket, opening the ramp. "I can sense her," he says, unable to hide the tremor in his voice. "Mom, I mean. Come on."

Rey can just sense something too: definitely a presence of some kind, here on the island—along with a lot of other Force-signatures that give her a vague impression of sun filtering through water, salt, fish and fresh linen. The other one is too faint to really make out. Maybe Ben can sense it easier, since after all, he's her son. "You lead the way," she says, shouldering her bag.

They exit the Falcon and blink in the bright sunshine: the wet rocks are slippery where the ocean waves crash below and fling up spray, and they're careful to keep their footing on the crudely hewn steps leading up the cliff face. Rey watches Ben's backside and keeps close to the wall, careful to step where he steps and using her staff to support herself.

Up and up they climb, until their legs are aching, and they come out between the two peaks of the island into a bowl-like valley of green grass rippling in the sea-breeze like water, and stone, and sunlight nearly blinds them. Rey takes a moment to catch her breath against an outcropping, screening her eyes against the glare, but Ben does not stop walking, plunging on across the grass.

"Wait," she pants, and hurries to catch up. At the very end of the valley, a figure is standing, its back to them, robed and hooded in gray homespun that flaps in the breeze. Rey's heart leaps, but Ben's a good twenty feet ahead of her by now, so she just keeps hurrying along, eyes fixed on the figure.

Ben comes to a halt ten feet from the person, and waits. Rey can sense his feelings, boiling up and over, a mass of mixed emotions. Fear, eagerness, worry, relief: all of them. "Mom?" he asks, hesitant.

The person turns, and Rey sees a woman— _the_ woman, the woman from the holo: small, certainly around Luke's age, with hair that must have once been the color of Ben's, but streaked with silver and slate-gray about the temples and hanging to her waist in a thick braid over one shoulder. Her eyes are dark, and her face is warm and gentle, but Rey can sense her Force-signature now: the strength and sharpness of songsteel, fresh snow—but not the kind for playing in, this reminds Rey more of the feeling of sinking her feet into it for the first time and being woken sharply with the cold. There is also a great gentleness in her, like water curling around a submerged hand in a still pool; and there is the promise behind it of water come to flood and storm and destroy.

She is nothing like her brother.

She is everything like her brother.

This is Leia Organa Solo: Princess of Alderaan, Senator of the New Republic, General of the Resistance.

"Ben," she says softly, looking at her son. "I am so sorry it took so long." Leia takes a step, and opens her arms, and Ben Solo wraps his arms around his mother and begins to cry.


	12. evening under lamplight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "And I'm so glad you finally made a friend," she continues, pretending to be oblivious as she winks at Rey, who grins widely. "Should I expect to invite Rey here to the next family dinner?"
> 
> " _Mom_ ," Ben hisses, cheeks gone scarlet.

Later that evening, they're sitting by an open fire on an outcropping that overlooks the sea, surrounded by ancient domes and eating freshly-caught and baked scalefin fish as the sky deepens to orange and gold overhead, the clouds blowing in from the west as the conversation stretches from afternoon to evening to night.

"It took me quite a while to find this place," Leia tells her son. "First Jedi Temple, they say. The Unknown Regions are almost entirely unsupervised by the Order, you know."

"But you are coming back, right?" Rey asks, mouth half full of fish.

Leia nods. "Yes, Rey. I am. I've received some troubling word about this Snoke, and I feel I would be of most use at the center of the fray."

"What kind of word?" asks Ben, hunched over his plate. Rey likes his face with the firelight on it. He looks younger, the lines on his face all smoothed out.

"Apparently he ordered Hux to take you prisoner and have you brought to him," Leia tells him, in a tone that suggests she would very much like to shoot Snoke directly in the face. "Hux managed to survive the base destruction, so we must not count him out as a threat. Snoke won't be pleased you two killed off all his Knights, either. We also believe he may want Rey, if he can't get to you."

"He's not touching Rey," says Ben in a tone very similar to his mother's, the muscle beneath his eye twitching. "Ever." Rey blushes and shovels another piece of fish into her face.

"Be that as it may," says Leia, looking from him to Rey, "both of you should be put somewhere Snoke can't find you. Our intelligence suggests he is not as powerful with the Force as he pretends to be—oh, he can pull and push people around, use a little lightning when the occasion calls—but if he had a truly powerful being under his control, the damage he could inflict would be monstrous."

"Put somewhere? Like where?" Rey sets her empty wooden bowl aside.

Leia shakes her head. "I'll have to consult with Luke when we go back. Maybe here. It would have to be a place nobody would ever expect to find two Force-sensitive young people."

"I like it here," says Rey, looking out over the sea. "I like the ocean. I've never seen one before."

"Never?" Leia smiles. "I remember when we brought Luke to Yavin IV, for the ceremony, after he'd destroyed the first Death Star. He couldn't believe the plants. Kept touching them like he thought they were fake." She chuckles. "Han had to tell him that he'd get a rash if he kept doing it to make him stop."

"That sounds like something Dad would do," Ben comments, mouth curled in a little half-grin.

"I can't tell you how glad I am that you've managed to reconcile, even partly," Leia tells him earnestly. "Really, Ben. Your father and I love you very much."

"Yeah, yeah," Ben mutters, rubbing his nose, which is turning red.

"And I'm _so_ glad you finally made a friend," she continues, pretending to be oblivious as she winks at Rey, who grins widely. "Should I expect to invite Rey here to the next family dinner?"

" _Mom_ ," Ben hisses, cheeks gone scarlet.

"Sorry, sorry." Leia waves a hand. "It's late. I sleep up in that big hut, but the caretakers maintain all the others very well, and leave blankets inside. It does get cold at night here. You two can pick whatever ones you like. I'll see you in the morning."

She kisses Ben's head by way of farewell and waves to Rey, then moves off up the steps and into her hut, the creaking old door shutting fast behind her.

Rey and Ben sit in silence, side by side, looking at the fire. "Do you think your uncle will, um, still make you do all your Jedi stuff if you get stuck here?" Rey ventures, trying not to look at him.

"Probably," he says heavily, leaning back against the stone. "Looks like you might not get a choice after all, huh?"

"Maybe," she says, shrugging. "I didn't come all this way to be told I have to be _put_ somewhere. I wanted—I want to do something useful."

Ben sighs. "Sometimes we don't have the luxury of choosing. And the only choice we have is to do what's right, not what makes us the most happy, or _feels_ —"

"R'iia's _tits_ , shut up," she snaps, and leans over quickly, pressing her lips to his in a clumsy, hot kiss. One of Ben's hand flies up instinctively to grip her shoulder, his mouth chasing hers in search of more as she moves away. "I, I just," she stammers, trembling slightly. "You said you'd never been kissed before, so now you have. And now I've done something useful."

"Rey—" Ben takes a breath, the pressure of her mouth still tingling on his lips. She might as well have punched him in the gut for how it feels. "That's not—I didn't mean—"

"Damn it," she says, tears welling up in her eyes. She curls up, knees to her chest and her arms wrapped around them in a protective gesture. " _Damn_ it. I'm sorry. I shouldn't—you're a Jedi, and you have rules, and I don't have a right to—"

"Stop talking," Ben orders hoarsely, and turns to face her, cupping her cheek in his hand. "No. I hate the rules. They're idiotic." Saying it out loud at last feels freeing and terrifying all at once, and he swallows down a lump of terror that Luke might appear out of thin air and berate him for his thoughtless words against the Order. "They're _stupid_ , and I hate them."

"You said it was a mistake," she tells him, very small and quiet. "You said—"

He glances at her. "It wasn't a mistake. Not all of it. One good thing did happen, because I joined the Order."

"What?" She looks up at him, eyes wide.

"I met you." Ben leans down and kisses her on the forehead, and she lets him, the taste of salt on his lips from her skin, the spray and the sea-air. "And I'll stay here with you, if that's what Mom and Uncle Luke decide has to be done to protect us from Snoke."

"What if they put me back on Jakku?" she whispers, and he can sense her fear, how she had only masked her hatred of the place because of some idea that her parents, whoever they were, would come back. "And they take you here?"

"Then I'll—I'll make a ship," Ben says impulsively, and she rolls her eyes.

"Out of what? There's nothing here but rocks and ocean and some trees and grass—"

"I'll make the whole ship out of wood," he insists, and Rey snorts. He likes making her laugh, so he keeps going. "Wood and stone and feathers from those fat little bird-things, what did Mom call them—"

"Porgs," she corrects, grinning.

"Right, porgs, and I'll make the engines out of wind and grass and ocean water and then I'll fly right back to Jakku and find you again."

"Nobody can make a ship out of _wood_ ," Rey says.

"That's what you think." Ben pulls out his comlink (useless out here in the middle of the Unknown Regions) and shows it to her. "This comm is duraplast, right? Minerals and metal and a bunch of stuff from the earth, running on electric signals. So really, it's just a rock that someone trapped lightning inside and taught how to think."

Rey looks at him as if she'd never thought about it that way before, but a clap of distant thunder rolls across the sea. She leaps to her feet, immediately wary, and stares out to the darkness. "What the hell was that?" she hisses. "Is the Order here?"

"It's thunder," he says, slightly amused. "Means it's going to rain."

"Rain," she says thoughtfully, and suddenly remembers her vision, water falling from the sky on an endless plain of earth. " _Rain_ ," she repeats, looking shocked.

"Let's get to shelter. It sounds like it's going to be a bad one."

*

As it turns out, the shelters are safe and snug, warm inside with blankets and things for a fire all made ready by the ever-prepared caretakers. Ben stands in the doorway of the one they picked, watching Rey stand in the rain, mouth open and head flung back as thunder claps madly overhead and sheets of water drench her to the bone, plastering her hair and her clothing to her like a second skin.

"It's _so cold!_ " she shrieks, dancing back and forth in glee. Another burst of lightning splits out over the island, far away, and she yelps in terror, then roars along with the thunder as it booms overhead. "Ben! Come out here!"

"Absolutely not!" he shouts back, grinning. "I'm starting a fire!"

Her only answer is a laugh, wild and high and free as more rain plasters her. Ben turns away, still smiling to himself, and spreads a blanket out on the packed-earth floor, over the springy sleeping pad of woven grass there. It's not quite large enough for two, but if they stay close to each other, they'll make it work.

He starts the fire, and Rey pulls the flap aside and steps in as the flames crackle merrily, shivering and grinning, her clothing stuck to her from shoulder to knee. "Blanket," she gasps, peeling her clothes off and dumping them on a stool.

Ben hands her a dry one, and she holds it out, gathering the radiant heat to her freezing, rain-wet skin. She's bare from head to toe, her hair stuck to her face, and all he can think about is R'iia: goddess of storms. Golden and glowing and devastating and he has her all to himself, right here in their hut.

"I'm not R'iia," she says, giving him a shrewd little look.

"No," he agrees, reaching over and pushing a wet lock of hair out of her eyes. "No, you're not. You're Rey. And that's all you'll ever need to be."

"Good," Rey tells him, eyes flickering from his eyes to his mouth. "And I'll stay with you."

Something wild claws at his chest, and he takes a moment to center himself before recognizing the feeling as _hope_. "With—with me?"

"Of course," she says, mouth twitching. " _Someone_ has to protect you from Snoke."

"Why, you little—" Outraged, he leans down and kisses her, his mouth slipping across hers clumsily, and she readily lets him do it, chilled fingers winding into his hair to pull him closer. "— _scavenger_ ," he finishes, breathless as he pulls away.

"Mmhmm," she hums, nosing at his throat. "We should go to sleep."

"I," he says very softly, mouth at her ear, "don't want to sleep."

"Too bad," she says impertinently, stepping away and drying herself off with the blanket. "We have a busy day tomorrow."

"Tease," he growls, trying to adjust his suddenly-very-tight trousers without her noticing as he sits on the sleeping pad and takes his shirt off. He doesn't miss her wide-eyed little expression as she sees him or the flush on her cheeks as she turns to yank on a clean tunic: fine, two can play at that game. "Come to bed, then."

"I _am,_ " she insists, and crawls in next to him, bare backside pressed into his groin and oh, oh no, no, this is so much worse. _Why_ did he think he could win at this? "Good night." But Ben Solo relaxes bit by bit as Rey drifts off into sleep, her body going loose and soft in his arms, and slowly the excitement drains away, leaving him very tired. He sleeps.

He dreams of a being with a scarred face, robed and throned, threatening to take Rey away from him, tearing apart all he holds dear: he dreams of Rey in tattered black, with mad eyes and a spitting scarlet blade: R'iia herself, come to punish him for his many sins with drought and death and dust.

In the morning Ben doesn't remember the dream at all, and they go down to the Falcon together and leave Ahch-To for good, Leia and Ben and Rey together, all out of the sunlight and the rock; the sea-breeze and the grass; the clouds and the salt spray. What are dreams, after all, but the product of a mind? One's own mind, of course… surely dreams are only a disturbance, and after, only... an awakening.

Have you felt it?

*

_Wait without thought, for you are not ready for thought:  
So the darkness shall be the light, and the stillness the dancing._

-TS Eliot, _East Coker_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're done! This was a fun prompt on twitter that sorta blew up, so thanks for sticking it out!


End file.
